


Whispers Of The Gods

by Raziel12



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 148,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raziel12/pseuds/Raziel12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Centuries ago, the Gods cast Cocoon from heaven into the hell of Gran Pulse. There, its people turned not only on the natives but on each other. Few still believe in the Gods, but they still whisper to those who would listen. Serah Farron has heard them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shrine

**The Shrine**

Serah lost her footing in the thick, slippery mud and tumbled to the ground. Fiery pain shot up from her right ankle and she clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. Tears of pain and frustration gathered in the corners of her eyes as she forced herself to stand and hobble deeper into the rugged foothills behind her village. 

Behind her, through the mist created by the steadily worsening rain, she could just make out the wavering glow of torches. The bandits were close, and in her current state, she didn’t think she could outrun them for much longer. She needed to find somewhere to hide, but where? There was nowhere to go, nothing around her but unfamiliar trees and the cold, slimy mud. Desperately, she dragged herself up another ridge only to stumble as the ground gave way beneath her again.

She rolled down the hill. Rocks tore at her clothing as she fell, her dress ripped in more places than she could count, and one her shoes snagged on a tree root. The flimsy shoe broke, and she felt fresh pain shoot through her wounded ankle before she finally slid to a stop at the base of the hill. 

For several long moments, she simply lay there. It would be so very, very easy to just give up, to just let the mud and grime and rain sweep everything away. Only the stark realisation that the bandits would find her gave her the strength to get up onto her hands and knees. If she couldn’t run, then she would crawl, because as painful as that was, it had to be better than what the bandits had planned for her.

An anguished howl rose inside her, but she forced it back. The bandits had been raiding villages in the area for months now, but despite the villagers’ pleas for help, no aid had been given, no soldiers sent. Part of her had always known that the High Council of Eden could be callous, but she had never understood exactly how callous they could be until the bandits had attacked.

Her father and the rest of the village’s men had fought as best they could. But they were farmers and craftsman, not warriors. The battle had lasted all of fifteen minutes before the bandits broke through the village’s meagre wooden walls. The surviving men were put to the sword, but the women and children were spared. All would be sold into slavery, but for the women there were other horrors to face.

Serah swallowed a sob. She’d seen one of her friends, the baker’s daughter, dragged into a house by several of the bandits. The sounds – oh Maker – the sounds she’d heard afterward had chilled her to the bone. Her turn had come soon enough, but her mother, eyes filled with the kind of courage that only desperation could give, had made a grab for one of the bandit’s weapons.

Her mother had earned a sword in the gut for her audacity, but in the sudden commotion, Serah had been able to get away. The bandits had gone after her, but for a while she’d had the advantage. She knew the village much better than they did, but the moment she left the village, she was confronted by the cold reality of her situation. The nearest other village was a day’s journey away, and the bandits would easily catch her before she got even half that distance. The only place for her to go, never mind the fact that it was forbidden, were the foothills, the dark, foreboding foothills that no one had set foot in for more than a century.

Torches appeared on the hill behind her, and Serah staggered back to her feet. She could scarcely walk, but even hobbling was faster than trying to crawl. Ahead of her, through the inky darkness brought on by the rainclouds that covered the moon, she could just make out a large building half-hidden in a maze of tangled brambles and vines. It was the stuff of nightmares, but what lay behind her was far worse.

Shoving her way through the tangled vegetation, Serah winced as sharp thorns cut open first one palm, and then the other. Desperately, she pressed onward, all too aware of the lights that had begun to make their way down the steep hill. The bandits had seen her and they were not far behind at all.

Finally, she pushed through the last of the vines and brambles and found herself on the weathered stone steps of a shrine. Her eyes widened. Why was there a shrine here, and why was it abandoned? Ever since the Gods had cast Cocoon from the sky into the hell of Gran Pulse, people had stopped worshipping them. After all, why would people worship those that had abandoned them in a world filled with vicious monsters and countless tribes that seemed to want nothing more than their death? Shrines were torn down, temples desecrated, and those few who still prayed to the Gods found their prayers unanswered as the people of Cocoon turned first on the natives of Gran Pulse and then on each other.

Serah had never been inside a shrine, abandoned or not, but she could not afford to be choosy now. Clutching her injured hands to her chest, she hobbled up the stairs and into the dark, overgrown corridor beyond. A bone-deep cold filled her almost immediately, and she struggled to shake the sense that she was not alone. There was someone, or something, there with her, and it wasn’t the bandits.

Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps as she felt her way down the dark corridor. After what seemed like forever, the corridor gave way to a large chamber. There were holes in the roof and the floor was slick with rain, but through the faint moonlight that had begun to emerge from behind the clouds, she saw a tall, unmistakably feminine statue at the far end of the room. This was a shrine to a goddess then, although she had no way of knowing which one. 

“Please,” she whispered, not caring that her prayers would most likely go unanswered. “If you can hear me, don’t let this happen. Please… please…”

She looked around for a place to hide, but before she could find one, voices echoed in from the corridor. The bandits must have followed her inside and now she was trapped with nowhere to run. The cold in her bones turned into something thick and heavy, something that made it difficult to breath, or even think through the panic that had begun to claw at her mind.

“Well, well, you led us on quite the chase, girl.”

Serah took a slow step back as the bandits filed into the room. There were a dozen of them there, all of them dressed in scruffy, bloodstained armour. They looked almost amused at her plight, and she shuddered as their cold, cruel eyes raked over her torn clothing. They would take their time with her, she knew, and they would make her suffer. A sob worked its way up from deep inside her, but this time, she didn’t even try to hold it back.

“What is this place?” one of the bandits asked. “A shrine, or something?”

“That’s what it looks like.” The leader of the bandits was a powerfully built man, and he moved with the swagger of someone well used to getting what he wanted. “But that doesn’t matter. After all that running around in the mud, I think you boys deserve a reward.” He leered at Serah. “I figure you can have her first. I had my fill back at the village.” His eyes narrowed. “But don’t kill her. Pretty little thing like her should fetch a pretty decent price.”

One of the bandits stepped forward and grabbed Serah by the arm. She struggled wildly, but he was so much stronger than her. 

“Settle down,” the bandit growled. “I said, settle down.”

“No!” Serah screamed. “No!”

He slapped her across the face with enough force to jar her teeth and she slumped back across the feet of the statue of the goddess. Bitter tears rolled down her cheeks, but she forced herself to stand. There was no running from what awaited her now, but at the very least, she could try to meet it as bravely as she could. Still, the faltering courage she’d manage to gather began to evaporate as the man who’d slapped her began to unbuckle his belt. 

“Please…” Serah murmured, not sure to whom she was speaking as she pressed herself against the statue. “Please… someone help me.”

The bandit laughed. “There’s no one here to help you, girl.” He looked past her to the statue. “And the Gods don’t care about us, they never have.” He grinned. “I remember your mother. She had pink hair too, didn’t she?” He laughed. “Tried to pull my sword off me, but she ended up with it in her stomach instead. Pity she died for nothing, I would have liked to have had her first.”

“Don’t you talk about my mother!” Serah shouted. “Just… don’t… you don’t even deserve to…”

The bandit just laughed harder. “Look at that, she’s still got some spirit in her. I’ll take care of that though.” He looked back at the other bandits. “Who wants to go after –”

You dare defile this place?

Everyone froze. Serah looked around in wild hope, for the words had not been spoken aloud. Instead, they had echoed through her mind like rolling thunder, and from the looks on the bandits’ faces, they had heard the words as well.

“What was that?” the bandit asked softly. “I heard someone.”

“It was nothing,” the leader of the bandits growled. “Must have been the wind.” He glared. “Now, do you want your turn with the girl or not? There are others here who’ll gladly have your turn if you don’t want it.”

The bandit scowled and looked back at Serah. “I’ll have my turn, I just want to know what that voice was.”

Do you want my help?

This time the words were for Serah alone as she backed up against the statue. An eerie coldness had come over her, almost as though she were outside her body watching everything unfold. 

“Yes,” Serah whispered. “I want your help.” Everything she’d seen the bandits do flashed through her mind and she had to close her eyes to try and ward off the terrible images. She was so, so scared, but more than anything, she just wanted something to happen to these bandits, she just wanted someone to make them pay for what they’d done. 

They will pay. I will make them pay. Now, call my name.

“I don’t know your name.” The men’s earlier worry had gone, replaced by amusement as they watched her appear to talk to herself. There was probably a part of them that derived a sick satisfaction at the thought of breaking not just her body, but her mind as well. 

You know my name. You have always known.

Maybe her fear really had driven her mad, because now the voice was talking in riddles. “Who… who are you?” God or demon, she no longer cared.

I am the power that shakes the sky, the power that tears the clouds and calls the storm. I am the white flash that lights the darkest night. Call upon my name.

Time seemed to stop as all the pieces fell into place. Serah looked up at the sky riven with clouds and awash with rain. In the distance came the deep boom of thunder. She closed her eyes.

“Lightning,” she whispered, and then louder, filled with a wild, frantic hope. “Lightning!” 

For a moment there was nothing. 

And then the skies answered.

A great jagged bolt of white-hot electricity sizzled down from the very vault of the sky. It tore through the battered roof of the shrine in a shower of melted stone and scorched wood and struck the ground between Serah and the bandits. Blinding light washed outward and the howl of thunder that followed in its wake was enough to knock Serah off her feet and toss the bandits back.

When the light finally cleared and Serah could see again, she was no longer alone with the bandits. A goddess stood before her, eyes the colour of a clear summer sky and hair almost the same pink shade as her own. Crystalline armour covered the goddess’ frame, and her face held an inhuman beauty, at once cold and remote as a distant mountain, yet filled with an almost unbearable ferocity. The goddess lifted one hand and a shaft of electricity gathered there only to condense into a long, slender blade.

“Long have I slept,” the goddess murmured, voice ringing with all the force of thunder, “And troubled has my sleep been.” Her gaze drifted to Serah and in those eyes Serah saw all of eternity stretch out before her. “But this one has called me here. She is mine now, and for even thinking that you could lay one hand on her, you will all die.”

The bandits were frozen, their faces locked into grim masks of absolute terror in the face of the goddess’ divine fury. Serah could see that they wanted to run, but even as they turned to flee, there was a white flash and the scent of ozone. The last thing Serah saw before her fear and exhaustion finally caught up with her was the goddess alone in a sea of red, spotless and pristine. 

Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes
> 
> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> I’ve had this idea floating around in the back of my head ever since I saw the trailer for FF XIII-2 and I thought I’d get it written up. I also wanted to try and get something more fantasy oriented written, especially since I’ve already had a stab at Westerns, zombies, spies, and of course, slice of life.
> 
> In case it wasn’t clear, this is very much AU. However, you can expect to see your favourite FF XIII characters turn up at some point, and maybe a few other FF characters too, depending on how things go. For those waiting for updates on my other stories, those shall, hopefully, be forthcoming.
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	2. The Trial

**The Trial**

Vanille did her best to ignore the mocking stares that she received as she trudged down the village street with her heavy pack. However, it was no easy task. She had always been a little strange, even amongst her own clan, but here amongst all the tall, strong warriors that had come to compete in the Trial, she stood out like a sore thumb. She was no proud Yun warrior, just a Dia, a young woman from a clan of healers and craftsmen.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” The words came out in something close to a sneer as one of the Yun women blocked her path. She was a head taller than Vanille and perhaps half again as broad at the shoulders. In a fight, Vanille wasn’t sure she’d last ten seconds against the other woman. “Well, Dia? The Trial is for warriors, not cowards.” 

Vanille took a deep breath and forced herself to meet the other woman’s gaze. She had learned the hard way that simply ignoring a Yun’s challenge was the worst thing she could do. The best option, the only option, really, was to face the challenge as best she could. “Healers are not cowards,” Vanille murmured as she tried to settle her heavy pack more comfortably on her shoulders. Her legs hurt from hours of stumbling through the thick snow and all she wanted was to get to her lodgings and rest. But if she backed down now, then there would be no end to the mockery. “And the Old Laws are very clear. Any woman of good standing from one of the clans can take the Trial.”

The Yun’s eyes narrowed for a moment and Vanille tensed. The Old Laws forbade unnecessary conflict during the Trial, but it would not surprise her if certain breaches were ignored. The Yun were a proud people, and any perceived insult would not be tolerated. However, the moment passed, and the Yun’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “You are right, little Dia, the Old Laws do allow you to be here.” She chuckled. “But do not blame us if you die on the mountain. The Trial is no place for weaklings.”

“I know that.” Vanille lifted her chin as proudly as she could despite her tiredness. “And I have no intention of dying. I intend to win.”

Only laughter greeted her words, and Vanille was forced to clench her jaw or risk letting her sharp tongue get her into further trouble. Still, the humiliation of it all bit deeply, and she resolved once again to do her very best to win the Trial, however impossible it might seem. She was not strong or fast like the warriors of the Yun clan, but she was clever, and she was cunning, and that had to count for something.

The Trial was a means of finding favour with the goddess of the wind, and although she was also the patron of huntresses and warriors, she was no mere brute. If the stories were to be believed, the goddess was wise and noble, capable of winning a battle of wits as easily as a battle of blades. With any luck, the goddess might overlook Vanille’s lack of prowess in battle in favour of her considerable wit and cunning.

It took Vanille some time to find her lodgings for she had never ventured this far into the Yun Mountains before. And when she did find them, she was not at all surprised to find that they were meagre indeed, little more than a hut near the edge of the village and all but exposed to the harsh mountain winds. Still, the walls seemed sturdy enough, and as a healer, she had spent much of her young life either on the battlefield treating the wounded, or in houses of healing tending to the ill. In any case, she had slept in far worse conditions than these, and at least the relatively isolated hut offered her some freedom from the taunts of the warriors.

It was close to dusk, and as the sun began to set, she busied herself with checking that her pack contained everything that she needed for the Trial, and with consulting all of the notes and maps that she had brought with her. The Trial would begin the next morning, and though a good night’s rest would be very important, she also needed to ensure that she was properly prepared for all that lay ahead. 

Curled up in a nest of warm furs and with a small lamp propped up on the floor nearby, Vanille began to go through her notes once more. The Trial itself was actually fairly simple. The Yun Mountains were said to be the home of the goddess of the wind, and every twenty-five years a contest was held to find a woman worthy of her favour. Women would come from far and wide, although most of the competitors were from the Yun, and whoever reached the peak of the goddess’ mountain first was declared the winner. 

According to legend, the winner would be met by the goddess herself and if found worthy, the winner would also be granted the goddess’ favour. Those favoured by the goddess were said to be able to call for her aid, whether it be in the form of great gusts of wind, or in the form of the enormous dragons that guarded the peaks and served the goddess. However, it had been quite some time since a woman was found worthy, and there were those who had begun to doubt that the goddess was real at all. But Vanille had no doubts about the existence of the goddess. She had seen the great dragons on her way up to the village, had heard the winds laden with whispers as they rustled past her. No, the goddess was real, and Vanille was determined to find favour with her.

Still, despite its simplicity, the Trial was no easy task. The mountain of the goddess was set amongst the tallest peaks in the world, in a place called the Pillars of the Sky. It was an apt name, for even at a distance, the mountains could clearly be seen towering above even the clouds, so tall that they seemed to hold up the sky itself. From the village, it would take at least two weeks to reach the mountain of the goddess, and that journey would take place in some of the worst terrain imaginable. It was already bitterly cold, but higher up in the mountains, it would only get colder. The air would get thinner too, and already Vanille had begun to find herself a little short of breath. Only the Yun, born and bred in the harsh, desolate mountains could shrug off such conditions, but Vanille was an outsider, born on the open, sprawling plains of Oerba. Little wonder then that almost every winner of the Trial had come from the Yun – everyone else found it hard enough to survive, let alone move quickly.

However, Vanille still had a few things in her favour. The Yun had grown complacent over the years, sure that their natural advantages were insurmountable. But experience had taught her that with enough time and effort, any challenge could be overcome. So in the year leading up to the Trial, she had studied every account of the Trial that she could find, scrutinising the words of not only the winners, but the losers as well. If she was to have any chance of winning, she needed to understand what separated the winners from the losers and plan accordingly. At most, it would give her a slim chance, but a slim chance was better than no chance at all.

The first and most obvious danger was the cold. It was tremendous, and as the Trial took the competitors further and further into the mountains, even the hardy Yun would begin to suffer. The wind would only add to the cold, and it was said that the constant howling of the wind over the mountains was enough to drive almost anyone mad. The second danger would be the thinness of the air. As the air grew thinner, even simple tasks would become exhausting, and on her journey to the village, she had seen firsthand the strange madness that seemed to strike as it grew harder and harder to breathe.

Then there was the issue of food. Most of the warriors would probably rely on the game that they could find. Hardy mountain goats, and even the occasional chocobo could be found on the slopes of the mountain. But there were dangers too. Wyverns haunted the lowers slopes along with wolves and bears. Further up, the dragons ruled over the mountains, and even the Yun knew better than to fight one needlessly.

Vanille’s plan to win the trial was relatively simple. She had fashioned as warm a cloak as possible out of the thickest furs she could find. It was heavy, but it was better than freezing to death. She had also brewed a number of potions and draughts to help fight the effects of the cold and the thinning air, and for food, she had packed dried meat and other long lasting foodstuffs. A warrior might have considered such preparations cowardly, but she was no warrior, and if she wanted to win, she would need to do things a little differently.

Satisfied that everything in her pack was in order and that she was as prepared as she could be, Vanille extinguished the lamp and settled in amongst her furs. More than any clan, the Dia understood the horrors of war. Not only were they healers, but their lands bordered those of the heretics from Cocoon. War was coming, and if the Dia had to fight, Vanille intended to have the goddess fight at their side.

X X X

Vanille woke later than she intended the next morning and she had to hurry to make it to the edge of the village where the ceremony for the Trial was taking place. Once again, she found herself the awkward centre of attention as the assembled warriors watched her stumble into the ceremony like a fool. She clenched her fists at the merry amusement in their eyes. Just as she’d expected, most of them had packed lightly, certain that their own skills would allow them to survive the harsh mountains without the need for too many supplies. In contrast, her pack was almost as big as she was. She probably looked ridiculous to them, but if it took a little humiliation to win, then she would gladly bear it. For her clan, and for the people she considered family, she would bear any shame.

Only one person in the ceremony did not laugh with the others. It was the old Yun woman who was conducting the proceeding. From what Vanille understood, the old woman had been the last to receive the favour of goddess, and that had been almost seventy-five years ago, which meant that the woman was very old indeed. Somehow it comforted her to know that at least this woman did not consider her silly, or at least, had the decency to not show it. 

“Silence your laughter,” the old woman barked. “This is no time for games.” The old woman paused and her eyes filled with a fiery defiance that made her seem almost young. “The Trial is about to begin. I will not lie to you. It is no easy task, and it is quite possible that none of you shall succeed. However, I can offer you this advice: remember everything that you have learned, everything that you have been taught. Honour your clans, and honour the goddess. Do this, and you will find favour with her.” The old woman waved one gnarled hand toward the gate at the edge of the village. “Go now, and may the goddess watch over you all.”

Within moments, the other women were rushing out of the village toward the gate. However, Vanille chose to move at a slower pace. It would take more than a fortnight to reach the mountain of the goddess. Running now would only exhaust what meagre reserves of strength she had. As she walked, she was surprised to find that the old woman had fallen into step beside her. Out of respect, she began to slow her pace still further, but the old woman simply laughed and gave her a surprisingly firm pat on the shoulder.

“Your consideration is appreciated, young one, but I am not so decrepit as that, at least, not yet.” The old woman’s lips curved into a small smile. “You are no warrior, are you?” The words were softly spoken with no hint of malice or mocking.

“No, I’m not.” Vanille glanced sideways at the old woman. “I am a healer from the Dia tribe.”

“A healer from the Dia tribe?” Vanille tensed expecting another insult, but the old woman merely smiled again. “Well, that would explain why you have a warrior’s eyes despite your little frame.” She chuckled at Vanille’s look of surprise. “I have lived a long time, young one, and there are different kinds of strength. Taking up arms is one kind, healing is another. Besides, I can tell you’ve thought long and hard about the Trial that lies before you. Someone wise once told me that although a fight can be won or lost in a moment, a war is won or lost long before the first blows are exchanged.” She smirked. “The goddess is no fool. Mere strength will never impress her.”

Vanille blinked back tears. She had not expected such words of encouragement, especially from a Yun. “Thank you, honoured elder.” She inclined her head. “But those words you spoke, who told you such things?”

The old woman smiled toothily. “The goddess told me, young Dia.” She gave Vanille one last firm pat on the shoulder. “Now go, I see in your eyes the same look that others once saw in mine. And when you reach the mountain of the goddess, tell her that I still remember the words we exchanged that day. Tell her that I have kept my promise.”

Vanille nodded. “I don’t know if I will reach the mountain of the goddess, but if I do, I will tell her.”

X X X

The first day of the Trial was quite possibly the worst in Vanille’s life. She had known that the cold would be bad, and that the wind would only make it worse, but simply knowing could not prepare her for the harsh reality. With each step she took away from the village, the cold grew, and as the wind kicked up, snow began to fall. It made it hard to see, and with each step that she took, she was forced to first pull her legs out of the ever-deepening snow before looking for firm ground on which to put them. Then she had to repeat the whole process again and again and again.

It wasn’t long before her whole body began to ache, and her face began to go numb as the icy winds tore at her cheeks and face. She took a cloth from her pack and wrapped it around her face, but that scarcely helped and it made it even harder to breathe in the thin air. Well before she had planned to, she was forced to take a sip from one of her potions. The liquid burned as it went down her throat, but for a while at least, it drove the cold back and she could almost pretend that she was back in Oerba, running through the long grass at the edge of the village. But the warmth passed, and with its passing, she was once again confronted by the simple truth of her situation. It had only been a few hours, but already the task before her seemed impossible. Dear Etro, how was she ever going to get through two weeks of this?

But as a cry of frustration bubbled up from deep inside her, she clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders. All her life, she had been fighting. First it was just to get her fair share of food and lodgings at the orphanage, and then again to prove that she could be a healer despite her age. This was no different. She would just have to do her best and hope that it was good enough. Grimly, she pressed on, eyes locked onto the ragged path ahead of her, one hand lifted in front of her face to help fight the wind, her other hand wrapped tightly around the thick wooden staff she’d brought.

The hours passed in a haze of wind and snow, and a cold so deep it made her very soul ache. Finally, night began to fall, and in the faltering light of the setting sun, she took out one of the maps that she had painstakingly pieced together from all of the accounts of the Trial that she’d read. The geography of the mountains seemed to change quite dramatically with each trial, but there were a few things that seemed to remain the same. There was supposed to be a cave nearby, and although it was almost truly dark by the time she found it, the cave offered a welcome respite from the wind and cold. 

There was no one else in the cave, which wasn’t surprising given that it was hidden behind a tall ridge of rock, and Vanille quickly shrugged off her pack and got to work on a fire. Dry wood was sparse, but she had brought a tinderbox with her, and after a few minutes of struggle, she finally managed to get a fire lit from the few sticks that she’d been able to scavenge. As the warm glow of the fire filled the cave, she tugged her gloves off and eagerly warmed her hands over the flames.

Dinner was dried meat and some nuts. It was just short of horrible, but Vanille closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was back home in Oerba. She had been raised in an orphanage where the matron had been a gruff healer. Somehow, through a mixture of sheer tenacity and just plain wheedling, Vanille had managed to convince the older woman that she was worth teaching. Over the years, they’d grown closer, and though they weren’t related by blood, the matron was the closest thing Vanille had to a mother. The matron had been a fine cook too, and Vanille had always been especially partial to the hearty stew that the matron cooked for special occasions. She pictured it as she swallowed the dried meat and nuts, and even if it did little to help the taste, it made the miserable conditions just a little bit easier to bear. She smiled softly. Only the matron hadn’t laughed when she’d set off for the Trial. She knew firsthand that Vanille was just too stubborn to fail at what she set her mind to.

As Vanille settled down to sleep, an eerie howl filled the air. Mountain wolves were ferocious creatures, dangerous enough to challenge even a seasoned Yun warrior. If they found her, she was as good as dead. Still, she wouldn’t make it easy for them. Her staff was mainly to help her negotiate the uneven terrain and to carry a few of her supplies, but it was also solid enough to make a decent weapon. The wolves might make a meal of her, but it would be the last meal some of them ever had.

Yet even as the howl still lingered in the air, another louder, far more fearsome cry rang out. It was the roar of a dragon, piercing and wild, raw and untamed. The cave shook and the fire leapt and danced. A dragon had answered the challenge raised by the wolves, and from the grim silence that fell in the aftermath of its roar, it was clear who ruled the mountains. 

Sleep came quickly to Vanile, but it was a sleep filled with troubled dreams. But when she woke, the images of blood and snow that had haunted her all night slipped away as easily as the wind over the mountainside. The only dream she could remember was of someone tall watching over her, someone draped in blue and with eyes so green they seemed to echo with all the moments of eternity.

X X X

The first week seemed to take forever. It was just so easy to lose track of time up there in the mountains. She was surrounded by cold, desolate beauty, the mountains tall and silent as the clouds drifted past and the winds whispered of hidden things. The snow gleamed in the sun, and there were times when she almost wanted to drop to her knees and just watch the world go by. It wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, to die in a place like this. But then she thought of her clan, and of the fate that awaited it if she failed, and she urged herself onward. She could rest when she was dead, and not a moment earlier.

Despite the number of people that had begun the trial, it took until the start of the second week for her to encounter other people. She was crossing a shallow stream, mindful of the fact that if she fell in, the resulting chill could easily be the end of her. Just as she reached the other side, a great cry rang out. Fear clawed at her heart, and she almost froze. It was a dragon’s cry, and it was close.

Her eyes went to the sky first, and when she found it empty, she hastened toward a rocky overhang. Dragons were deadly at all times, but they were all but impossible to avoid in the open where their flight grant them the biggest advantage. Fighting did not even cross her mind. Her staff might deter a wolf, but against a dragon, it might as well be kindling.

Still, when the dragon’s cry was matched with the frantic shouts and yells of people, she found herself unable to simply hide. She was a healer, and the same instinct that had driven her to run through the chaos of a battlefield to tend to the wounded compelled her to see if there was anyone who needed her skills. With her heart hammering in her chest, she stumbled toward the sounds of battle. 

What she saw horrified her. There were four Yun warriors locked in battle with a young dragon. At least, she thought it was young, for it was only about thirty feet in length. That was enormous by almost any standard, but rather small in comparison to an adult dragon. The fight was taking place in front of a large cave, and from the furious snarl on the dragon’s lips, it must have caught the Yun taking shelter in what had to be its cave. No doubt, the Yun had also been taken by surprise, for Vanille didn’t think that even four Yun would be so arrogant as to face a dragon, even one as young as this.

Still, the Yun were not considered the greatest warriors in all of Gran Pulse for nothing. The four warriors moved almost as one, two of them with spears, and another two with bows. Those with spears raced toward the dragon, one of them flipping through the air to distract it, as the other jabbed at its throat. Behind them, the two archers readied their bows, their arrows aimed at the dragon’s eyes. But the dragon was no mere beast to be defeated so easily. Its scales glittered in the sun like so many shards of amethyst, and as it reared back, the spears clattered off it in a shower of sparks, their edges ripped raw.

Then there was a whoosh as the dragon took a deep, deep breath and then thrust its head forward. A great torrent of fire rushed out, so hot that even at a distance, Vanille had to cover her face. Steam went everywhere as the blast melted all of the snow nearby, and Vanille found her mind drawn to the all the legends she’d heard about dragons.

The people of Gran Pulse had always wondered how dragons could survive the bitter cold that clung year round to the great mountains upon which they lived. Even wyverns were confined to the lower slopes, and they had to spend hours each day sunning themselves to survive. According to legend, dragons were the oldest of all creatures on Gran Pulse. They had been created just after the sun and the moon and there had been a little bit of the fire used to make the sun left over. The gods had taken that fire and infused it into the heart of the first dragon, and since that day, all dragons had been born with the sun inside them, a raging heat that no cold could ever conquer. It was why they could breathe fire, and it was why their blood burned as hot as lava, and why even years after they had died, their scales could be hot enough to burn at a touch. 

The Yun scrambled for cover, but there was nothing there that could withstand the dragon’s fire. Snow, rock, wood, everything either burned or melted before the dragon’s wrath, and it was only the dragon’s youth that saved the warriors. An adult dragon could breathe fire without pause for minutes, whereas a young one could do so for only a few moments. As the dragon paused to gather its fire for another attack, the Yun launched another desperate assault. The two archers fired at the dragon’s eyes and as it swiped the projectiles out of the air with one claw, one of the women with a spear leapt off a half-melted slab of rock and angled her spear down toward the top of the dragon’s head.

But the dragon was far, far too fast for that to work. Its tail snapped out with brutal force and the tall Yun woman was knocked aside like a ragdoll. She hit a tree, broke it, and then slid through the snow toward Vanille. 

“Dia?” the woman gurgled, and Vanille realised with shock that it was the woman who had first confronted her in the village. “You’re still alive? You should run. The dragon will kill all of us.”

“No,” Vanille said as she dropped her pack and rummaged for her healing supplies. There was red bubbling from the Yun woman’s mouth and her breathing had begun to grow ragged. “I’m a healer. I can help you and –” She grew silent as an ominous shadow fell over them. It was the dragon, and it had come to finish the Yun warrior.

Time seemed to slow down and Vanille saw the whole world with perfect clarity. The dragon’s eyes were a molten gold, and they were staring at her with the fury of a storm. She had dared to come between the dragon and its prey, and she would pay the price. Behind it, the other Yun attacked, but they might as well have been using brooms for all the good their weapons did. The dragon reared, wings flaring outward, as it raised one claw to crush both her and the Yun. She swallowed thickly. What could she do?

And then she remembered the pouch of cleansing powder tied onto the belt of her cloak. It was normally used to clean wounds and fight infection, but if it got into the eyes, it could be tremendously painful. The last time, she had gotten it into her eyes, she had been forced to wash them three or four times, and even then it had taken hours for the swelling to go down. Wildly, she ripped the pouch from her belt and tossed it at the dragon’s face.

It was equal parts luck and skill that allowed her to catch the dragon square in the left eye, and the effect was immediate. The dragon let loose a shrill wail and stumbled away. It drove its head into the snow in a frantic attempt to ease the pain, and when that failed, it spat fire wildly and clawed at the air. Blind and no longer in control of the situation, the dragon gave a shriek of impotent rage and took to the sky. It would undoubtedly return once it could see again, but with any luck, Vanille and the Yun would be long gone.

“Is she going to be all right?” one of the Yun asked as Vanille turned her attention back to the wounded woman.

“I don’t know yet.” Vanille felt her nervousness at being in the presence of so many Yun vanish as the familiar role of healer took over. The woman had hit the tree hard, and it took Vanille only a few moments of prodding to realise that her ribs were badly broken. One of the ribs must also have punctured a lung, which would explain her shortness of breath and the blood that had begun to bubble up from between her lips.

“Give me a knife!” Vanille growled at one of the Yun. “A clean one, if you can.”

“What?” The Yun folded her arms over her chest. “Do not presume to order me around –”

“Give me your knife or your friend here is as good as dead!” Vanille barked. Under normal circumstances, she’d never have had the audacity to actually yell at a Yun warrior, but a life was at risk here. Seeing the fire in her gaze, the other Yun quickly produced a clean knife for her to use. A meek Dia they were used to, this snarling monster was something else.

Vanille used the knife to cut a small hole in the woman’s side and then cut a length of hollow reed from her supplies to prop the hole open. Blood trickled from the end of the reed, but with somewhere else to go, it would no long fill the chest cavity and smother the woman’s lungs. Hands red with blood, Vanille fell back onto her haunches for a moment and then put together a rough splint of sorts to try and stabilise the woman’s broken ribs.

“She should live,” Vanille murmured when she had finished. “But not if she stays here. She needs to go back to the village. The healers there will be able to fix her up properly – I just don’t have all the things I need to do that here.”

The three other Yun looked at one another uncomfortably. “But the Trial…”

“The Trial?” Vanille asked, horrified. “Aren’t you friends? What would the goddess think if you abandoned one of your own to win?” Her eyes blazed for a moment more before she realised that she had, once again, raised her voice to the Yun. With the danger out of the way for the most part, she was suddenly, terribly, aware of what a bad idea that was. “Um…”

One of the Yun chuckled mirthlessly. “You are right, Dia, as much as it pains me to admit it. The goddess despises traitors and those who abandon their comrades. It would not be right to leave one of our clansmen behind in search of glory.” She paused. “Can you give her something for the pain?”

Vanille nodded and handed the other woman a pouch. “Give her a pinch of the powder in here every few hours for the pain. It should last for almost a week if you use it sparingly.”

The Yun took the pouch. “You are tougher than you look, Dia. Few would have had the presence of mind to blind the dragon as you did.”

“I was lucky,” Vanille replied. “But we should be moving. The dragon will return eventually, and when it does…”

The Yun grimaced. “It would be wise to be gone before it returns.” The Yun’s lips curved into something that was almost a smile. “Continue into the mountains, Dia, and leave our sister’s care to us.”

“But…”

“Go, and good luck.” The Yun pushed Vanille away. “If we accept any more of your aid, we shall shame ourselves even more than we already have.”

Vanille nodded slowly and turned away. As she headed further into the mountains, she chanced a look over her shoulder. The three able-bodied Yun had begun to put together a rudimentary stretcher. She hoped that it would be enough to get the fourth member of their group back to the village. They might have insulted and belittled Vanille at every turn, but that did not mean she wanted them dead.

X X X

The second week dragged on and the cold grew so bad that at times, Vanille was certain that she could no longer even feel her face. Sometimes when she woke, frost clung to her cheeks, and she had a horrible suspicion that frostbite had begun to set into her toes, which had become damp from all the snow. But worse than any of those things was the toll that the thin air had begun to take on her thinking. Her mind, always sharp despite her occasionally childish personality, had begun to falter.

She spent an entire day convinced that she saw her mother standing only a few yards away. This was despite the fact that she had never seen her mother, did not even have any pictures of her. Yet all the same, she had been possessed by an almost terrifying certainty that the strange, shadowy figure with blurry features lurking behind every rock and tree was her mother. It sent a chill down her spine, especially when that lurking figure seemed to frown in disappointment, its shivering, quaking, clouded features twisted into a monstrous scowl. It made her want to scream and in the end, the apparition only vanished when she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

Then there were the wolves. Everything she knew told her that the wolves couldn’t possibly live this high up in the mountains, yet every time she turned around, she could have sworn that she saw them out of the corner of her eye. There were sounds too, little yips and growls that were just loud enough for her to hear. Perhaps she truly had gone mad. 

All she could was walk, and along the way, she passed a few more women competing in the Trial. Any trace of animosity was gone now, beaten out of them by the harsh, unrelenting cold. She spent one night huddled beside a woman from one of the other clans for warmth only to find the other woman gone in the morning. She hoped that the other woman had simply turned back, but she had no way to be sure. This was no longer a competition to see who would reach the mountain of the goddess first. It was a battle simply to reach it at all.

And so the days passed, and each footstep became a world unto itself, each hour an eternity of wind and snow. The thinness of the air made her head spin, and her vision blurred as much from lack of air as the biting gale and piercing cold. In some places the snow was as deep as her waist, and she stumbled through it in a fog of pain and regret. Why had she come her in the first place? How could she have thought she would win? She was going to die here, die alone and cold, and half mad. 

It was on the last day of the second week that she finally realised that the wolves were real. Somehow, they were real. 

They came for her that night as she shivered around the weak, faltering fire that had taken her almost an hour to light. Had she been wholly in her right mind, she’d never have lit a fire out in the open, but she could barely count the days, let alone plan properly. A fire drew attention, but the few dragons that flew overhead seemed largely content to leave her alone. Perhaps she was too small and scrawny to bother with. But the fire also drew the wolves, and they were not content to leave her alone.

She saw the first of them staring back at her with gleaming amber eyes just beyond the ring of firelight. With a shaky laugh, she waved it aside, thinking it another one of the apparitions that had begun to haunt her more frequently as the air thinned, but when the wolf gave a low growl and stepped fully into the firelight, she knew that it was real. She stumbled wearily to her feet, staff in hand only to remember that wolves never hunted alone. One would make itself seen to draw the prey’s attention and then the others would – 

She spun to where she knew the other wolves would be, her staff already in motion. The weapon struck the first of the two wolves behind her on the muzzle and the animal gave a sharp yelp and skidded away into the snow. With a strength that she didn’t know she still had, she rounded on the other wolf as it leapt toward her, its jaws wide open. The impact knocked her to the ground, and she tried to shove the wolf away as its jaws clamped down on her staff. The thick wood creaked and groaned, but held fast, and the two of them rolled end over end in the snow. Blindly, she reached for the small knife she kept on her belt and stabbed up at the wolf. The first strike made a shallow cut along its right flank, but the second dug deeply into the flesh just behind its neck. The wolf howled and its struggles increased, but Vanille was lost in the fury of the struggle, days of lethargy melting away in a desperate bid to survive. Her staff was ripped from her hands as the wolf tossed its head to one side, but she lashed out with her knife. There was a moment of horrible resistance as the blade bit into the cartilage of the wolf’s throat before she whipped it up and across. Blood poured down on her and she coughed and pawed at her face as she shoved the wolf away.

The last wolf came at her then, lips pulled back into a snarl at the sight of all the blood. Staggering, she did her best to meet it, but once again, she found herself knocked to the ground. Wildly, she stabbed and slashed, but the wolf was too fast, nipping at her arms, her chest, and even her legs. Only the thickness of her furs kept her from serious harm, and in a blur of motion, the wolf was poised over her, its muzzle pointed at her vulnerable throat. But somehow, their struggle had carried them over to the still burning fire, and she reached out for one of the burning branches. The fire burned the tips of her fingers as she heaved one of the branches up, but as the wolf bared its fangs, she brought the burning branch around to strike the animal in the side of the head. It gave a pained cry and staggered back, one eye burnt, and the entire left side of its face little better.

Clambering to her feet, Vanille waved the burning branch at the wolf. Her lungs heaved, the air too thin to offer any real respite, and only the grim knowledge of what would happen if she lost consciousness kept her on her feet.

“Come on!” she screamed. “What are you waiting for?” She was wild now, from her wounds and the pain in her chest as she tried to get her breath back. “Well? Come on!”

And then, from the shadows beyond the ring of the firelight came more eyes. There were a dozen wolves out there, maybe more, and the three that she had just dealt with were little more than scouts. She almost wanted to laugh – she really going to die up here, and there wouldn’t even be a body left to bury. Still, she’d fight to the end. Their meal would not come easily.

And then the strangest thing happened.

There was a rush of wind and a great roar that seemed to fill the whole world. Amethyst wings unfurled and great snapping jaws tore into first one wolf then another. A blast of fire rollicked outward, so hot and bright that for a split-second the night was as bright as day. It was the dragon from before, it golden eyes ablaze with some unreadable emotion as it slaughtered the pack of wolves with impossible ease.

As the last yelps faded away, the dragon turned to her, and the burning branch she held slipped from suddenly number fingers. Had the dragon saved her from the wolves merely to finish her itself? She met its gaze defiantly. She might be a healer, but she was no coward. 

“Whatever you’re going to do, be quick about it,” she murmured. She was so tired now, so pained and exhausted, that death might even be a mercy.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed.

One who had the courage to face a dragon deserves better than to meet their end at the fangs of mere wolves.

Vanille’s eyes widened. Had the dragon spoken to her? But she hadn’t heard anything… was it… was it speaking to her with its thoughts alone? She opened her mouth to ask, but the dragon had already turned, and with a few sweeping beats of its wings, it was airborne.

Utterly exhausted, Vanille sank into the snow and fell onto her side. Perhaps someone really was watching over her?

When Vanille woke the next morning, the wolves were still scattered all around her. Most of them had been burned by the dragon’s fire, and those that had managed to escape the blast had met their ends on its enormous claws. The smell was terrible, but she forced herself to cut a few strips of meat from the burned wolves. Her supplies were all but gone, and even if it didn’t taste good, wolf meat was better than nothing. Besides, she thought with a grim smile, they had tried to make a meal out of her.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t escaped without injuries. Her body was one big bruise and she had a host of smaller cuts and scrapes where the wolves had bitten through her thick furs. Her pack had also been badly damaged. Somehow it had been knocked into the fire during the struggle, and much of the contents had been destroyed. Only a few of her healing supplies had survived, and none of the warming draughts or potions she’d brewed were intact.

Injured and now terribly cold, she wanted to drop onto her knees in the snow and cry. She was so close now, so very close to the mountain of the goddess. She could actually see it, the peak hidden behind a ring of white clouds. Another few days, perhaps three, and she would reach the top, but she didn’t know if she would be able to survive with so many of her supplies gone. A single tear trickled down her cheek before the icy wind swept it away. She couldn’t give up now, not after everything she’d already endured. She would either make it to the mountain of the goddess or die trying.

With what little she could salvage, Vanille pressed onward. The wind turned the tears of frustration on her face to ice, and it wasn’t long before her fingers and toes began to go numb. The cold, already terrible, seemed to grow even worse as she neared the mountain of the goddess, and the days seemed to roll into one big mess of snow and wind until she lost all track of time. The only thing that mattered now was the next step. The only thing she cared about was that each moment brought her closer to the top of the mountain and to the end of her terrible ordeal.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she clawed her way up the last rugged rock face and clambered up onto the top of the mountain of the goddess. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from inside her. There was nothing up here, nothing but a vast plinth of purple and black rocks. It was a lie. The whole damn thing was a lie. She toppled onto her back and gazed up at the clear blue sky above her.

Beautiful.

X X X

Vanille didn’t expect to wake up, but somehow she did. She was lying on a small pallet on top of the mountain, but for some reason the winds were silent and the cold was gone. A little frightened, and thoroughly convinced that she was either dead or hallucinating, she tried to move. To her surprise, all of the aches and pains she had accumulated over the course of the Trial were gone. In fact, she felt better than she could ever remember feeling.

Her battered furs were gone too, replaced by a simple dress that was somewhere between light orange and pink. Beside her was a bowl of hot stew, and despite the caution that told her to stay away from it, her empty stomach refused to be denied. Gingerly, she used the wooden spoon that was in the bowl to scoop a small portion of the stew into her mouth. It was good, really good. Her mouth dropped open. In fact, it tasted just like the stew the matron made.

“What is going on?” she whispered. “Am I dead? Am… am I dreaming?”

There was a rumble from nearby and Vanille suddenly found herself looking into an enormous violet eye. There were two eyes amongst all the purple and black rocks. No, she thought as she looked at the ‘rocks’ more closely, not rock, but scales. The top of the mountain wasn’t made up of oddly coloured rocks – it was made up of the coils of an enormous dragon.

The hot stew spilled onto the ground as Vanille backed away, only to freeze as she realised that she had nowhere to go. The dragon was all around her, a titanic mass of living flesh that seemed to make up the whole world. An ever-shifting wall of black and purple filled her vision until finally the dragon revealed itself properly, its wings flung out to cast its shadow over the whole mountain. It was more than three hundred feet long, a dragon so gigantic, so utterly huge that for several long moments her mind simply refused to believe that it could exist.

The dragon opened its jaws and the whole mountain range shook with the cry that followed. It was a cry of absolute of defiance, of complete and utter freedom. This was a creature that bowed to no one, that ruled over mountain and sky with unquestioned authority. More than any dragon that she had ever seen or heard of, this massive creature was the very eidolon of raw, untamed strength, not just a dragon, but the dragon. And all Vanille could do was cower as it lowered its titanic head toward her.

“What did I tell you about scaring her?”

Vanille flinched as a woman appeared on top of the dragon’s head. She was tall and beautiful, every line of her body speaking of strength, yet unquestionably feminine at the same time. A raw charm seemed to bleed off her, to draw the eye and hold the gaze, and a wild, untamed mane of black hair flowed down her back. Emerald eyes that gleamed more brightly than any mere jewel twinkled with mild exasperation as the woman reached down to give the enormous head beneath her an irritated poke. Absurdly, the huge dragon’s head actually drooped at the chastisement.

The woman sighed and gave the dragon a gentle pat on the head. “I’m not mad at you, but do you know what a hassle it was to get that bowl of stew? I had to wait for that woman to make some and then snatch it and bring it back here all before she woke up – a tall task, even for me! And then you had to go and scare her. Look, the stew is all over the ground now.”

“Uh… it’s okay.” Vanille wasn’t sure what exactly she should say, but it sounded like the right thing to say, and she really couldn’t bear to stay silent in the face of something quite so bizarre as this. “And I did get a taste of it… it was really good.”

The woman grinned and then leapt off the dragon’s head. Even though the dragon had lowered its head toward Vanille, it was still a height of more than fifty feet, but the woman landed easily on her feet with all the grace of a big cat. The blue garment that the woman wore fluttered briefly for a moment before it settled, the wind all but silent despite the clouds that swept swiftly past the top of the mountain.

“You really are quite interesting, Vanille.” The woman smiled. “Although it did take you a little longer than I expected to wake up. Still, you were in pretty bad shape when you got up here. I almost thought you wouldn’t make it and that would have been a real shame.”

“Wait…” Vanille took a slow step back. “How do you know my name?”

The woman smirked roguishly. “Well, I’ve been watching you for a long time now, ever since you set foot on my mountains.”

Her mountains? Vanille’s mind took a moment to process the information she’d just been given.

Oh.

OH.

Vanille dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the gorund. “Please forgive my rudeness great goddess, I –” She stopped midsentence when the goddess reached down and gently pulled her back up onto her feet.

“I really don’t like people grovelling to me like that.” The goddess’ eyes twinkled and she gave Vanille’s cheek a playful pinch. “Besides, you’re not just anyone. After all, you did make it to the top of my mountain, and well, I happen to think you’re pretty worthy.”

“Oh.”

“Are you always this talkative?” the goddess quipped. “If it helps, how about we introduce ourselves?” She steered Vanille toward the edge of the mountaintop and sat the two of them down. “If looking at me scares you, you don’t even have to do that. You can just sit back and enjoy the view.”

And it was a very good view. For a few moments, the clouds cleared and she could see all of Gran Pulse laid out before her. 

“Ready to introduce yourself?” the goddess asked. “Or do you want to just look a little bit longer.” The goddess voice was warm and the arm that settled around Vanille’s shoulders made her feel so very safe. “You know, you’re not like most of the people who make it up here. In fact, I wasn’t sure quite what to make of you, but the thing is, you’ve got a good heart and you can be strong when it matters. You’ve also got a very, very good head on your shoulders.” 

Vanille turned her head a little to the side. It almost hurt to look at the goddess, she was so beautiful. It was like looking at the sun. “I’m Oerba Dia Vanille.”

The goddess gave Vanille a gentle pat on the head. “A Dia, huh? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Fang.”

“Fang?” Vanille blurted, a little incredulous. “I mean… is that really your name? Not that you would lie or anything…” she trailed off certain that the goddess beside her was about to strike her dead.

Fang chuckled softly and ruffled Vanille’s hair. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to get mad over something like that. I have a lot of titles, you see. I’m the Goddess of the Wind, the Queen of Dragons, the Great Huntress. Some people even call me the Fang of the Heavens – that’s my favourite one, actually, which is why I tend to go by Fang, if I can. It’s easier to say too.”

“Oh.” Vanille winced. She hadn’t really thought about what she would do if she met the goddess, but being horribly tongue-tied hadn’t figured into her plans. “I mean… okay, uh, Fang.”

“See, it’s not that hard.” Fang waved one hand behind them and the huge dragon shifted so that its wings could act as a canopy of sorts to block the snow.

“Uh, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you think I was worthy?” Vanille murmured. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

Fang laughed. “I’ve met many warriors, Vanille, but I’ve never had a healer make it up here. I saw them mock you, you know, saw the way they laughed and made fun of the fact that you were a healer. I love the Yun, I always have, but only a foolish warrior mocks a healer. I saw your encounter with that young dragon too. It took courage to face that dragon, and a good heart to help the ones who’d made fun of you.”

“They didn’t deserve to die for laughing at me,” Vanille replied.

“Of course not, but few would have stopped to help at the risk of their own lives.” Fang smiled. “And you handled yourself well. You planned, you prepared, and when it came down to it, you fought.” She smirked. “Those wolves would have taken down even a seasoned warrior, but you managed to hold three of them at bay. That was no small feat.”

“But a dragon took care of the rest,” Vanille said.

“Yes, but you earned that dragon’s respect, and that was a task far greater than simply killing a few wolves.” Fang chuckled. “Although he’s still not particularly happy with you for blinding him for the better part of two hours.”

“Sorry, I guess.” Vanille winced. A dragon with a grudge was not something she wanted to face.

“It’s fine, he understands. Besides, you’re not going to get eaten – I’ve forbidden it.” Fang clapped her hands together. “Now, I already know what you want to ask me, and the answer is yes. War is coming to Gran Pulse and I will fight at your side.”

“How… how can I call to you for aid?” Vanille asked.

“Don’t worry, you’ll know when the time comes.” Fang got to her feet and pulled Vanille up with her. “Now, you should probably get going. This place isn’t for mortals.” She glanced at the huge dragon and her lips curved upward. “I’m going to need to make it clear that you’ve won my favour, and I have just the thing. Bahamut here can take you back to the village.”

Bahamut? Vanille paled as she realised that Fang was referring to the dragon. She was going to have the dragon take her back to the village? “Really?”

“Of course, you’ll be fine.” Fang gave Bahamut an affectionate pat on the leg. “He’ll get you back there in no time, and it’s not like anyone can question you having my favour after you come back with him.”

“I guess.” Vanille gave the dragon a weak smile. The dragon smiled back. Its teeth were very, very large.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” Fang laughed softly. “It’s not his fault his smile comes out looking a little scary.”

Vanille nodded dumbly and then perked up. The old woman… the old woman at the village had asked her to tell the goddess something if she made it to the top… “Wait,” she said. “There was an old woman in the village… she told me to tell you that she remembered what you said that day, and that she’d kept her promise.”

Fang’s emerald eyes sparkled. “Yes, yes, she did.” She gave Vanille an amused look. “You want to know what I said to her don’t you, and what her promise was?” Vanille nodded. “Well, I said to her that she would know when my next chosen would come and that it was up to her to give that young woman a few words of encouragement because she’d really need them.” She grabbed Vanille around the waist and with a single leap carried them both up onto one of Bahamut’s enormous claws. She tightened her hold on Vanille a fraction and whispered into her ear, “I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Vanille.” She leapt back down onto the ground and gave Vanille a jaunty wave. “Now, hold on, it might be a bit of a bumpy ride.”

And then Bahamut was airborne and all Vanille could do was clutch at his claw for dear life. Great Etro, what was she going to say when she got back to the village, and how were they going to react Bahamut appearing?

X X X

 

Back on the mountaintop, Fang watched Vanille and Bahamut vanish into the clouds. The girl was the right choice, Fang was certain of that, but still, she couldn’t help but shiver as she turned her gaze toward the east. Far, far away, a jagged bolt of lightning had just torn down from the heavens. A power that she had not felt for an age roared to life.

She smiled.

“It’s about time you woke up, Lightning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> Well, it looks like I’ve decided to continue the story. This chapter is considerably longer than the last one, but I felt it needed to be. Unlike Serah, Vanille clearly has some idea of what she wants and how she’s going to get it, and this chapter is all about that struggle. 
> 
> As you’ve probably noticed, Fang is also a very different sort of goddess than Lightning, at least on the outside. The choice of her various titles was made on the basis of her Eidolon – a dragon – as well as her personality. The wind is free and wild, and even though as it can be calm and gentle, it can also be forceful and strong, much like Fang. Of course, you could argue that she’s more like fire, but I decided to go with wind. It also suited the whole frozen mountaintop thing better, and that was an image that just refused to leave my mind.
> 
> The bit at the end is something I’ll leave for you to work out. Just how does Fang know Lightning and are they enemies?
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	3. The Meaning of a Sword

**The Meaning of a Sword**

It was like swimming through an ocean of deep, dark water. Serah shivered as a multitude of sensations washed over her, very few of them pleasant. Foremost was the pain. It was worst in her ankle, but it also came from dozens of other small injuries. Cuts, scrapes, bruises – she had more than her fair share. Yet behind the pain, and the panic and fear that clung closely to it, there was a feeling of warmth, of safety, one that remained even as she began to remember just what had happened.

Her village.

The bandits.

Her parents.

The goddess.

Even though her eyes were still closed she could tell that she was moving. From the way that she swayed from side to side and the warmth against her and around her, she must have been in someone’s arms, her weight seemingly nothing at all to them. Her eyes opened a fraction and her nose wrinkled as a few strands of vivid pink hair fell across her face. She swallowed thickly as she realised exactly where she was, and just whose arms held her. She was in the arms of the goddess, cradled with an easy care that no human could ever hope to match.

For all that she had been taught to beware the gods and to revile their abandonment of humanity, it seemed inconceivable that she could not only look upon one, but actually touch one too. Just looking at Lightning it was hard not to lose herself in the goddess’ unearthly perfection. Each feature, from the lush pink hair that mirrored the fragile pink light of the dawn, to the eyes that shone with all the regal force of newly born stars, every single feature was a perfect balance of femininity and martial strength. Even the way that Lightning moved defied easy description, a mix of refined elegance, and firm, unshakable resolve.

Serah felt another shiver run through her. What right did she have to be held in the arms of a goddess, to mire that kind of inhuman perfection with all the mud and blood that clung to her tattered clothes? The answer came immediately, and was almost frightening in its simplicity. She had no right at all, and surely people had been struck down by the divine for far less.

Yet little by little, the almost overwhelming sense of inadequacy that Serah felt began to fade as Lightning took one steady step after another. The cloying mud seemed to pose no hindrance, and even the shadows, thick and heavy, did not seem to slow the goddess’ pace. Perhaps her eyes were keener that those of a mortal, or perhaps even the darkness refused to bar the path of a being whose very name spoke of heavenly wrath. But what soothed Serah’s worries the most was something far simpler. It was how warm Lightning felt.

When Lightning had first appeared and then again when she had destroyed the bandits, Serah had been struck by the sense of coldness that had clung to Lightning, the sense of remote magnificence. It was like looking at a distant mountaintop half hidden in clouds – beautiful but utterly unreachable. Because of that, she had expected Lightning herself to be cold, to feel much like the crystal armour she wore. But Lightning wasn’t like that at all. She was warm, so very, very warm.

“You have awakened.” The words were softly spoken, scarcely more than a whisper, yet they carried with them all the force of distant thunder rolling in from across the foothills. At the same time, Lightning’s gaze remained locked on something far away, something that Serah could not see.

Serah shifted slightly, mindful of the burden that she presented, and took a closer look at their surroundings. The rain still fell – she could hear it – yet not a single drop of it seemed to fall on them. “Yes… yes, I am.”

Lightning’s eyes drifted down and for a moment they locked eyes. Serah felt something inside her twist, like a muscle stretching, and then the sensation was gone leaving her strangely bereft. Those eyes, Serah thought, those eyes could see right through her, right through to the very darkest corners of her soul. And then Lightning looked away again, gaze turned toward the village.

“The bandits are still in your village.”

The dread that Lightning’s presence had swept away stirred once again, and Serah found herself on the verge of tears. Her parents were dead and her village was still in the hands of their murders. There was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to collapse into the mud at their feet and weep, but there was another part of her, something cold, and ugly, and vengeful. It remembered what Lightning had done to the other bandits, and it remembered the screams that Serah had heard as she’d fled the village. She couldn’t help her parents now, they were dead, but she could still save her village.

“Take me to my village, please,” Serah begged. She pressed her face against the cold armour that covered Lightning’s chest and stiffened as the goddess shifted to run one finger along her cheek.

“And when we get there, what would you have me do?” Lightning had stopped, the rain pooling in the mud around them, but not a single inch of her marred by all the muck and grime. “Well?”

Serah turned to meet Lightning’s gaze squarely. Her soul burned as their eyes locked once again, but she refused to look away. Her parents had always taught her to be kind, to show compassion to others. They had thought that in a world of hatred and spite, perhaps some kindness might make a difference. Her jaw clenched and a single, bitter tear trickled down her cheek. They were dead now, lying cold and lifeless in the muddy streets of the village. Their kindness had gotten them nothing and the people who had killed them were not the kind that could be reasoned with, not the kind that could be taught better. Violence, her heart whispered, that was the only thing such men understood. Well, she would give them violence.

Her voice came out as almost a hiss. “Kill the bandits. Please. Kill all of them.”

Lightning’s eyes drifted shut and for a moment, her face was taut with something that was almost pain. Then the moment passed and Lightning was once more as she had always been: remote, and filled with a deep and forceful sorrow that Serah could not hope to understand. When Lightning looked back at Serah it was with eyes full of pity. Pity not at what had happened to Serah, but at the choice that she had just made.

“If that is your wish, so be it.”

And then they were moving.

Serah had to close her eyes as the world vanished in a swirl of sounds and colours. There was the snap of thunder and the flash of lightning, and suddenly they were at the outskirts of the village. Lightning’s eyes wandered over the ruined walls and the muddy streets and Serah felt a moment’s shame at how poor a place her village looked.

“What now?” Serah murmured.

Lightning strode toward one of the old, tall trees that dotted the edges of the village. She set Serah on the ground beneath it. It wasn’t too muddy there, for the thick branches had kept most of the rain at bay, but even so the ground was still damp, and the scent of rain filled the air.

“Remain here.” Lightning turned away and Serah shivered, a frisson of fear sweeping through her. Without the goddess’ arms around her, she felt more than cold, she felt vulnerable, as though any moment the fear that clawed at her heart might overwhelm her. On instinct, she reached out, but Lightning was just out of her reach.

Lightning stopped and turned, and her eyes were almost soft with a sad sort of understanding. Gently, she took Serah’s hand and pushed it back. “You are afraid. You need not be. No harm will come to you, and the ones that harmed your village will pay for their transgressions.” She stepped forward and pressed the fingers of one hand against Serah’s forehead. “See through my eyes, and know that I see through yours.” Then Lightning was gone, her passage marked only by the scent of ozone and a crackle that could be heard clearly over the driving rain.

As Serah tried to understand Lightning’s words, a great shudder ran through her. Something old and vast and unspeakably powerful brushed against her mind and sought entrance. She reeled, eyes screwed shut, as she tried to gather herself. She wanted to fight, to keep the foreign presence from her mind, but even as she mustered her will, the presence shifted and grew familiar. It was Lightning, she realised, the goddess’ mind brushing up against her own. Perhaps Lightning’s touch had been less than gentle, but the mind of a mortal could hardly compare to that of a goddess. It would be like trying to grasp the finest glass in heavy gauntlets. Swallowing thickly, Serah forced herself to relax, and as her eyes opened once again, she realised that she was no longer seeing through her eyes alone, but through Lightning’s eyes as well.

The goddess stood outside the village meeting hall where the remaining bandits had gathered the rest of the villagers. The doors were closed and barred shut, but as Lightning drew near, they were thrown wide open, the locks broken, the bars cast aside by the divine power that flowed off her. No door, no wall, no fortification made by mortal hands could bar the path of a goddess. Yet even as the doors still hung in the air, tossed off their hinges by the force of Lightning’s approach, Lightning was already past the threshold, her gaze cold and merciless as it raked over everything inside the hall.

To Serah the whole scene was one of utter impossibility. Time seemed to have slowed down to a crawl. The doors were still twisting through the air, and the bandits’ faces had only just begun to shift into looks of utter disbelief. Only Lightning moved at a normal pace. No, Serah realised, that wasn’t the case at all. The world had not slowed town, and Lightning was not moving at a normal pace. Lightning was moving faster than anything should be able to move, so fast that everything else seemed to move at a crawl.

A wave of rage washed over Serah, not hers but Lightning’s, as the goddess took in the beaten, battered forms of the villagers, and the blood that stained the bandits’ clothes. Great arcs of electricity raced across the hall, smashing the windows and carving scorch marks into the walls, ceiling, and floor. In the very next instant, Lightning moved, a sword of glowing electricity already fully formed in one hand.

Lightning reached the first group of bandits before the doors of the hall had even hit the ground, and they were dead before they even realised what had happened. Her sword swept out in a swift, clear arc, and the air was filled with blood a moment later. The spray of gore went everywhere, but not a drop of it dared sully the armour that Lightning wore. The next group of bandits fared little better, unable to even register Lightning’s approach before the goddess began to cut them down with the same ruthless efficiency. It was over in less than a heartbeat, and Serah felt her gut clench as the bodies hit the ground almost as one. 

The villagers looked at the carnage, stunned, for it had happened too quickly for them to really even see what had occurred. To them, there had been a boom, the doors of the hall blown off their hinges, and then a white-blue flash that left only death in its wake. It was only then that Lightning let herself be known. For just a moment, a blink of a mortal eye, she stopped and let the villagers look upon her. Then she was back at Serah’s side, and with her return, the strange double vision faded so that Serah was once again seeing only through her own eyes.

“It is done.” Lightning had stopped just outside of Serah’s reach. Around them, the rain had begun to worsen, and still not a single drop clung to Lightning’s skin or armour.

Serah nodded slowly. Despite the fact that she had asked, begged really, for Lightning to kill the bandits, she could not help the bile that burned the back of her throat. She had seen more death in one night than she had ever thought to see in her whole life. “Thank you.” She forced herself to swallow. “I… I should get to the others. They need to know that I am still alive.”

Lightning watched as Serah slowly got back to her feet. “You should see to your injuries as well.”

That gave Serah pause. “You… can’t heal me?” The question sounded stupid in her ears, almost insulting, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Some unreadable emotion flashed through Lightning’s eyes, and for a moment Serah could have sworn that the goddess looked almost ashamed. Then Lightning’s features were once more inscrutable, and her gaze shifted to watch the jagged forks of lightning that lit the far horizon. “Lightning cannot heal. It can only destroy.” Whether the words were spoken of herself or her namesake, Serah wasn’t sure, but there was something in Lightning’s tone that forbade any further questions.

“That is all right.” Serah shifted her weight awkwardly and began to hobble in the direction of the village meeting hall. “You have already done so much for me and… I’m… I’m so grateful.” She would have dropped into the mud, but Lightning had already moved to catch her. “I… it’s just… at least my parents are avenged.”

“Vengeance cannot bring them back.” Lightning’s voice held no trace of emotion, but her eyes blazed. “I will go with you as far as the torchlight. If they see you with me, they will have questions, more than you are ready to answer.”

“Thank you,” Serah whispered, as she clung tightly onto Lightning. “For everything.”

Lightning said nothing for a moment, and when she spoke, it was as though she hadn’t heard Serah at all. “You must rest. Heal. I will come for you again when the time is right. You have choices to make. Choose wisely.”

X X X

It was almost a fortnight before Serah’s ankle began to feel even a little better. In the meantime, she had been forced to hobble along on a set of crutches that a few of the other villagers had put together for her. The rest of her wounds were less serious, but she was fairly certain that at least a few of the cuts and scrapes she’d taken in her mad flight from the village would scar. In a way, that pleased her. It would have been wrong from her to emerge from the attack that had taken her parents from her unscarred.

Still, it was hard to dwell too deeply on her wounds when there were others who had suffered far worse. Her parents had lost their lives along with many others, but many of those who remained had lost something else, something that was, in some ways, far more valuable – their innocence. She could not be certain of exactly what had happened while she was out of the village, but the haunted looks on many of the village’s women left her in little doubt. And what little doubt she had vanished when she had been asked to tend to some of their injuries. Her mother had served as the village’s healer, and although Serah had only ever served as her assistant, she still knew more about healing than almost anyone else. The things she saw left her sick to her stomach, and more certain than ever that asking Lightning to kill the bandits had been the right thing to do. 

But there were other duties to deal with besides treating the wounded. The village had to be repaired and the dead had to be buried. The question of money never came up. The village was like one big family and they had all lost friends, relatives, and loved ones. They would bury their dead together and not a single coin would be exchanged in the process. 

They buried their dead on one of the hills overlooking the village. Serah thought that it was a pretty spot, sheltered from the wind by a copse of trees and dotted with wildflowers. She managed to keep her tears at bay throughout the ceremony as one by one, the villagers lowered their dead into the ground. When her turn came to say a few words, she struggled to find any. How could she sum up the two people who had been her whole life in just a few sentences? She could only hope that wherever they were, they were at peace. If the gods were real then surely the afterlife was too, and if ever two people had done enough to warrant heaven, her parents had. She closed her eyes and blinked back tears. Perhaps she should ask Lightning if the afterlife was real. Surely the goddess would know.

When all of the dead villagers had been buried, Serah made her way back to the house that had once belonged to her whole family. It was just hers now, and the sight of it standing tall and silent and still filled with all of her family’s things robbed her of what little strength she had. She managed to make it back into the house before she collapsed onto her bed in a rush of angry, terrified tears. There was no ignoring it now. Her parents were gone and she was alone. Exhausted, she finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

A storm awakened her. It was the loudest one she’d ever heard. She made her way to the door of the house and looked outside. The whole sky was awash with lightning, the thunder of it rolling into one continuous boom that seemed to shake the whole world. Rain pelted down and the wind howled. Yet Serah was not afraid. She could hear Lightning in each peal of thunder, could see her in each radiant shaft of electricity. She did not know if a goddess could feel grief, but surely this was a sign that at the very least Lightning could understand it. Serah grieved and for that night, the sky would grieve with her – a gift from the goddess that had chosen her. 

It was the eulogy her parents deserved.

When dawn came the next morning, the skies were clear with no trace of clouds. 

But as the days passed, other matters came to the fore. The villagers had seen Lightning for only the shortest of moments, but what they had seen both frightened and amazed them. There was wild speculation. Some of the villagers even went so far as to pronounce Lightning a demon, while still others argued that the gods had finally begun to answer prayers once again. The villagers loved and respected Serah as one of their own, so it wasn’t long before they began to turn to her for answers. Anything that could slaughter bandits in the blink of an eye could easily do the same to them.

Serah gave them her story, or at least a version of it that she thought would settle them. Lightning had chosen her – for what she couldn’t say – but Serah had a feeling that simply telling everyone that would not be wise. Though few had the courage to openly disparage the gods, even fewer liked them. Still, it would not have been fair to let the villagers think of Lightning as demon. 

Her story was quite simple, and surprisingly close to the truth. She told the others that after fleeing from the village, she had run into the foothills. The bandits had come after her, and she had been forced to seek refuge in an abandoned shrine. In their haste to capture her, the bandits had desecrated the shrine and awakened a slumbering goddess. The goddess had then struck them down for the sheer temerity of their actions.

It was a reasonable story, Serah thought, and no bolt of lightning had come down from the sky to strike her dead, so Lightning must not have been offended by the deception. However, she was more than a little surprised at how the other villagers reacted. She had expected them to show only grudging gratitude. After all, the people of Cocoon had been taught to despise the gods that had abandoned them. Their reaction was nothing like that at all. There was definitely fear – a goddess had awakened near their village – but with it came a strange kind of reverence and awe. They had all heard the stories of the ancient days when the gods had walked amongst men. In those far off times, miracles had been worked, and paradise made. Perhaps it was the horror of what they had endured, but the villagers seemed to believe that Lightning had been sent to save them, that perhaps the gods had finally relented and heard the prayers of the people of Cocoon. 

In any case, they believed her when she said that Lightning was a goddess, and it wasn’t long before many of them began to wonder if perhaps they shouldn’t offer tribute of some kind. The High Council of Eden had rejected their pleas for aid, but Lightning, a goddess, had answered. If paying tribute could garner her continued protection, then tribute would be offered. Indeed, only a few days after telling her story, Serah was asked to lead a group of villagers back to Lightning’s shrine.

Serah wasn’t entirely sure that leading the villagers to the shrine was the best idea, but she could hardly refuse. She could only hope that none of them did anything to anger the goddess. However, she needn’t have worried. Some of the villagers had decided to try and win Lightning’s favour, and restoring her shrine seemed like as good a place as any to start. They began by clearing away the thick brambles and vines that surrounded the shrine, and then moved on to the interior. The holes in the walls and ceiling were boarded up and the dust from countless years of neglect was swept aside. 

One of the first people to make an offering once the shrine had been tidied up was the village headman. He was a tall man, and broadly built in the way that most farmers were. He laid some flowers at the base of Lightning’s statue and lit a stick of incense. Serah had always known him as being a fairly practical man, not given to talk of gods or spirits, but his eyes were grave as he gazed up at Lightning’s statue.

“Serah,” he murmured as he continued to study the features depicted so finely on the statute. “Have you left an offering?”

“Yes.” She moved to stand beside him and pointed at the sword that rested across the base of the statue. Her father had been the village blacksmith. He made his living crafting tools for farmers and the like, but he had always loved to make swords. He had called it an art, and said that a fine sword was the closest thing to perfection a blacksmith could ever reach. “My father made that sword. It seems right to leave something like it here.” She looked up at the statute and nodded to herself. A sword seemed just right as an offering for Lightning. “But I’m a little surprise to see you here.”

The headman chuckled, but it was a bitter sound. “You know what those bandits did.” His jaw clenched. “I can still hear the screaming and my wife still wakes up sometimes with nightmares. I don’t care what the gods did in the past. That goddess brought those bandits to justice and that’s all that matters. Me and the other men, we couldn’t do a damn thing, but she did. A few candles and flowers aren’t a lot when you consider what she’s done for us.”

“So, you don’t care about the gods abandoning us anymore?” Serah asked softly. She owed Lightning her life and for that she would always be grateful, but she wanted to know more about how the headman thought because the other villagers were likely to be thinking the same thing as him.

The headman glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “They did abandon us. Cocoon was paradise and they tossed us out of it, at least that’s what the stories say. And maybe this goddess only killed the bandits because they desecrated their shrine, but at least she did something.” He shook his head slowly. “Ever since the war started up again, the High Council hasn’t given a damn about any of us small villages. So long as they have their soldiers and can fight their war, they don’t care what happens. I’ve got ears, and this isn’t the first time something has happened, and I doubt it’ll be the last. If praying to a goddess and offering tribute is what I have to do to stay safe, then that’s what I’ll do.”

It was a pragmatic answer, one that she probably should have expected from a farmer well used to doing what it took to get a decent crop each season. She didn’t really know if the restoration of the shrine pleased Lightning, but it felt right. A goddess like Lightning deserved better than a dilapidated, overgrown ruin.

X X X

As the village slowly settled back into a routine, Serah began to think long and hard about what she would do next. Her father had been the village blacksmith, and her mother the village healer, but as it was, she lacked the skill to replace either of them. Oh, she had watched her father at work many times, and she could pick out good steel from poor with just a glance and a touch, but she was no blacksmith. However, she lacked the strength to work with metal, and the heat and smoke of the forge had always bothered her despite how much she loved to watch the sparks fly as her father hammered raw steel into some fine, useful shape. She was no healer either, for though she had often assisted her mother, she had not learnt enough yet to work on her own. 

She was still useful of course. Her knowledge of healing was still enough to deal with many of the more common injuries and complaints, and she was one of the few who could read, write, and do sums. If she had to, she could make a living offering some healing, and those who could read and write were always needed for matters of business and the like. And even if she hadn’t been able to do those things, the other villagers would still have helped her, for her parents had been very well loved.

Yet such things were not what truly worried her. No, what truly worried her was the simple fact that she could scarcely look around the village without wishing she were somewhere else. Did that make her a bad person? Everyone in the village had been so kind in helping her even when they had their own sorrows to face, and she really ought to be thankful that she was still alive. And she was thankful, but how could she be happy? Her house was still full of her parents’ things, and though a more hard-hearted person might have removed them to avoid the memories they invoked, Serah could not bring herself to do that. Every time she walked through the village, her mind was overrun with memories of happier times. If she had had a sister or a brother, things might have been different. She could have lived for their sake, but to live for herself, and alone? That was much, much harder. 

The days passed and slowly a resigned certainty came over her. She was going to leave, but first she needed to know that leaving was the right choice. She waited until the middle of the night and then made her way to Lightning’s shrine. It should have been dark, but the sky was clear and the moon hung low and bright in the sky. She reached the shrine easily enough and paused to study it in the pale, quivering moonlight. The shrine was still clearly only a shadow of what it had once been, but now at least with all the vines and brambles cleared away, she could almost imagine how it should have looked.

Inside the shrine, Serah was careful to make sure that she was alone before she knelt before Lightning’s statute and closed her eyes. She did not know how to pray – what point would there have been in learning when the gods had ignored the people of Cocoon for so long? Still, she remembered what Lightning had told her the night that they had met.

“Call upon my name,” Serah whispered. “Lightning.”

Though her eyes were closed, there was no missing the peal of thunder that rang out. A moment later, the room was filled with a force, a presence, a power that made it hard to even breathe. A warm hand cupped her chin and when Serah opened her eyes, Lightning was there.

“Lightning…” Serah murmured. “You came…” 

There was the barest softening of Lightning’s gaze. “If you call for me then know that I shall hear.” She stepped away. “Now, rise. I do not seek obeisance, least of all from you.” Her voice snapped out like a whip. “What need have I for people to kneel before me when the whole sky trembles at my voice?” 

Serah got to her feet. Phrased so bluntly, she could see Lightning’s point. Why would someone who could shake the sky care if people knelt or not? But all of the stories had spoken of the gods greedily demanding tribute. Perhaps they were wrong and if they were… “Does all of this displease you then?” she asked as she gestured vaguely at the rest of the shrine. “Have we offended you?”

Lightning shook her head. “No. I do not demand tribute, but it does not displease me either.” Her gaze clouded for a moment. “I remember when this shrine was built. Great care was taken. It pleases me to see it looked after once again.” Her eyes drifted over the offerings scattered before the base of the statute. “Besides, all of the prayers are… comforting.”

It was the first time that Serah had ever seen the goddess hesitate. Curious, but mindful of overstepping her boundaries, she spoke, “You say that our prayers our comforting. What do you mean by that?”

For a long, long moment, Lightning said nothing and Serah feared that perhaps she had trespassed onto some private matter, but there was no anger in Lightning’s gaze only a gentle sort of sadness. “The gods are all but eternal. Time cannot weary us and there are few things indeed that can even harm us. But the prayers of mortals have a place. We can hear them and draw strength from them. Your belief can turn weak iron into fine steel.” She turned her eyes toward the village. “Though I slumbered deeply, your prayers reached me. Now, I hear the prayers of the others as well.”

Toward the end, Lightning’s voice had become almost wistful. Serah smiled softly. “You answered my prayers. If the others call for you, will you answer theirs?” It would soothe her mind to know that even if she left, her village would be safe.

“Would you have me answer them?” Lightning asked.

Serah nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I shall.” The words were spoken softly, but they carried a weight, a gravity that left Serah in no doubt at all that Lightning meant what she said. “But you did not come here to speak of these things. I told you before that you had choices to make. Have made the first one?”

Serah swallowed thickly. “I am going to leave the village.” She paused at the knowing look on Lightning’s face. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? Did you read my mind?”

Lightning shook her head. “No. You are my chosen. Mine. But your mind is your own. Whatever choices you make are yours. Free will is the greatest of the High Mother’s gifts and I would never take it from you.” 

The words were a relief to Serah. There were countless stories of trickster gods that took pleasure in fooling and tricking the unwitting, but Lightning seemed nothing if not straightforward.

“I saw your choice in your eyes,” Lightning said. “They are the eyes of someone who must keep on living, but is not sure how. They are they eyes of someone weighed down by the burden of regret. You look around you, but it is not the present you see, it is the past.”

“So you understand.” Serah bowed her head. To have her own feeling spoken aloud both soothed and frightened her.

“I understand better than you could imagine.” Lightning’s gaze grew far away once again, lost in some distant time and place. “So, you have decided to leave the village. Have you decided what you will do once you leave?” 

Serah took a few seconds to gather herself. She knew what she wanted to do, what she had to do, but to speak the words aloud would make things real. She would have to leave behind everything that she had ever known. “My… my parents always said that I was clever. My mother was the village healer and she taught me how to read, write, and do sums. I have always loved to learn, but more than that, I have always loved to help others learn.” She closed her eyes as a memory swept over her: her father had never been much good with letters, but she could still remember the smile on his face as she and her mother had helped him through one of the books her mother kept. “I want to learn as much as I can, and then come back and teach everyone. I want to learn more healing too – my mother was a fine healer, but I still have so much to learn until I can take her place.” 

She took a deep breath to steady herself. “That’s why I need to go to Eden. I don’t care if it takes me years to learn what I need to, it’s what my parents would have wanted – it’s what I want.” A dark look flashed across her face. “And if I go to Eden then maybe I can learn more about why the High Council abandoned us, about why they care only for their war. Maybe if I do all those things, maybe then I can come back and look at the village without feeling only sadness.”

“Love of learning is a fine thing,” Lightning said. “And a love of teaching is finer still. But what you want is not given freely. Much has changed while I have slept, but money, as always, remains a distinctly human desire. Besides, the journey is far, and the path is dangerous.”

“I know,” Serah whispered tightly. “But my parents were saving money and we have a friend in Eden who will help me. There are also some swords and the like that my father made, which haven’t been sold yet. If I bring them and sell them as I travel, I should be able to manage, and if it comes to it, I can offer my services as a healer, limited though they may be.” She paused. “And as for the journey… I know that I could not make it on my own but…”

“I will go with you,” Lightning said. “Someone very wise once told me that to understand mortals, I had to walk as one of them. I wish to see this new world through the eyes of a mortal.” Her lips firmed into a thin line and the air around her grew thick and heavy. “There is a darkness gathering on the horizon. If I wish to face it, then I must understand what this world has become.” She looked at Serah. “Prepare for your journey. When you leave, I shall be waiting for you at the first crossroad beyond the village.” 

Serah bowed her head and blinked away tears. “Thank you.”

X X X

All up, it took Serah a week to finish her preparations. When the other villagers learned of her plans, they tried to change her mind, but when it became clear that they could not, they did their best to help her instead. She left her parent’s house in the care of the village headman. He was a good, honest man, and he and her father had been close friends. He would not cheat her, and he would see to it that the place was well looked after.

From there it was simply a matter of packing whatever supplies she needed into the wagon her father used when he needed to go to another village or town. The wagon was a little old, but it was tough, and it was large enough to carry everything she needed. Hitched up to the wagon were two chocobos. One of them, a powerful white chocobo by the name of Odin, had been her father’s. According to her father, Odin had once been a war chocobo until an injury had made him all but lame. Her father had bought the bird at a bargain price and had painstakingly nursed Odin back to health. In exchange, Odin had served their family faithfully for years, and Serah was glad that she could bring at least one part of her past with her, for Odin was the only family she had left. The other chocobo has another stocky bird named Muddy for the mottled brown feathers he had. Muddy was a gift from the other villagers, a way for them to wish her luck that suited their practical natures far more than flowery words.

More than a few of the other villagers offered to accompany her, but she gently turned their offers aside. She knew that none of them really wanted to leave the village, and it wasn’t like she would be unprotected. Lightning would be with her, and the goddess was fine protection indeed. Yet all the same, Serah hadn’t been able to keep from buckling a sword to the belt around her waist. She did not really know how to use one, but she had learned the hard way that even if someone didn’t carry a sword, they could still die on one. Besides, it was comforting to have something her father had made at her side. Looking at the blade, she could almost hear his voice as he sang to the rhythm of his hammer, could almost see his smile as he turned twisted metal into something useful.

It was early morning when she left the village, and late afternoon when she finally caught sight of the first crossroad beyond the village. So far, the journey had been almost boring. The skies were clear, the woods all but silent. She had yet to see another person, though the thin trails of smoke that rose in the distance told her of the other villages nearby. However, as she drew closer to the crossroads, the chocobos let loose a panicked squawk, and she had to fight to keep them on the road. There, standing calm and silent at the crossroads, was Lightning. Yet at the same time, it was not Lightning, at least, not as Serah had known her.

Instead of her usual crystal armour, the goddess was dressed in grey trousers and a grey tunic, tied at the waist with a brown leather belt. A deep red cloak was thrown over her shoulders and a familiar sword dangled at her side – it was the sword that Serah had left as an offering at Lightning’s shrine. But more had changed than just Lightning’s clothing. From the moment that Serah had laid eyes on Lightning, the goddess had shone with a fierce inner fire, a kind of force and power that seemed to fill the air around her and make the whole world seem dim and dreary in comparison. Even the way that Lightning moved was a part of it, the goddess gifted with a grace that was all but indescribable, a mix of hard won skill, and innate elegance that no human could ever hope to equal. All of that was present still, yet dimmed at the same time, dulled from fine steel to mere iron. Only Lightning’s eyes remained the same, the maelstrom held within them as fierce as ever.

The chocobos startled again as Serah pulled up alongside Lightning, but they grew quiet as the goddess reached out with one hand to run her fingers through their feathers. Odin relaxed at once, seemingly won over as Lightning let her hand drift from the curve of his beak to the slope of his neck. Muddy was only a little more recalcitrant, unwilling to meet Lightning’s gaze, but quite appreciative of her gentle touch. With the chocobos calmed, Lightning vaulted up onto the wagon next to Serah in a single easy motion.

“Shall we go?” Lightning asked, as though travelling as a mortal was something she did everyday.

Serah gawked for a moment and then nodded. There were a few good hours of travelling yet, and she did not want to waste them. Still, it was quite some time before Serah managed to wrap her head around how utterly bizarre it was to have a goddess next to her on her wagon. Indeed, Lightning seemed almost normal as she watched the road ahead, pink hair caught and tousled by the breeze.

“What will you tell people if they ask about me?” Lightning asked, startling Serah out of her reverie. Serah was also a little ashamed that she’d been caught staring.

“I think I might say that you’re a relative,” Serah replied. “If that’s okay with you.”

Lightning paused for a moment and then nodded. “I have no objections.”

Serah sighed wistfully. “I’ve always wanted an older sister. Someone who could protect and watch over me, someone I could go to whenever I needed advice or comfort.” She gave Lightning a watery smile. “It’s a little childish, I suppose, but in a way, I guess that you’re the closest that I shall ever have to an older sister.” 

Lightning looked away, but her hand was gentle as she gave Serah’s shoulder a soft pat. “If it pleases you to imagine that I am your older sister, then tell others the same.” In the late afternoon sun, Lightning’s hair gleamed a mix of faded gold and pink. “Tell them I went away a long time ago to find my own path, and now I have come back.”

Despite the lingering sadness behind the words, Serah could not help but smile. “So, you are my sister then?”

Lightning looked back at Serah and, for the first time that Serah could remember, the goddess smiled. “Very well.”

They travelled for a few more hours, before the onset of dusk made it wise to stop for the day. To Serah’s surprise, Lightning had been more than willing to do her fair share of work. The goddess had even spent a good two hours driving the wagon. She was good at it too, very much in tune with the chocobos as she eased them down the road at a steady clip. It was a pleasant surprise – she had half expected the goddess to refuse to lower herself to such menial tasks – but perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Lightning seemed proud, but there was nothing in her conduct that spoke of undue arrogance. And, as Lightning had later pointed out, it would have been strange to others if she had not helped with some of the more menial tasks.

They made camp in a small clearing off the road. It was a spot that Serah had used once before when she had accompanied her father to one of the other villages, and as far as she knew, it was reasonably safe. Even so, she was careful to check for any sign of others. Her father had always taught her to be wary, and the bandit attack had only heightened her sense of caution. However, they seemed to be alone, and she quickly busied herself with preparing a fire and cooking her dinner.

As she waited for the water to boil, Lightning nodded at the sword she wore at her side. “You carry a sword at your waist, and there are more in the wagon. Was your father a sword smith?”

Serah glanced back at the water and then at their surroundings. In the gathering dark, it was difficult to feel too comfortable, and Lightning’s eyes seemed almost to glow. “He was a blacksmith. He made most of his living off farming tools and the like, but he always had a fondness for swords though we had little use for them until the bandits came.”

Lightning nodded and drew the sword she wore at her side, the one that Serah had left in her shrine. “He made this?” Serah nodded. “It is good steel, a worthy weapon for any warrior.” Her gaze shifted to the sword that Serah had. “But why are you carrying a sword at your side?”

“Because… because I don’t want to keep running away every time there is trouble – because I want to feel safe.” Serah clenched her fists. “I saw what the bandits did. Maybe if I’d been able to use a sword, things might have turned out differently. Maybe my parents would still be alive.”

Lightning moved so quickly that Serah could only blink as the goddess drew Serah’s sword and swung it lazily through the air. The blade glinted in the firelight. “If you had fought beside your father, then you would have died with him.” She pointed the tip of the blade at Serah. “But you are wrong. A sword alone cannot make you feel safe. A sword cannot drive the fear away, especially when you do not even know how to use it.”

Serah clenched her jaw. The words must have been easy to say, and she doubted that the goddess had ever felt scared in her whole life. “Then teach me! I know I can’t use a sword properly, but you can. If I can fight with even a fraction of your skill, then I won’t ever have to worry about losing anyone again. I’ll be strong enough to fight.”

Lightning studied Serah carefully and then nodded. “Very well, we shall start tomorrow morning. It would be unseemly if my chosen could not even defend herself. But understand this: a sword kills. That is all it does. The purpose may change, the reasons may differ, but in the end, a sword is an instrument of death. By asking to learn the way of the sword, you are asking to learn how to kill. Do you understand that? Do you grasp what that means?” 

“I… I do.”

Lightning shook her head and for a moment her eyes were so sad that Serah almost wanted to weep for her. “No, you do not. But you will.”

Dinner passed in silence as Serah ate alone. She offered some of her food to Lightning, but the goddess refused it.

“I need neither food nor water,” Lightning said. “Though I can enjoy both. The journey is still far from finished. Save your supplies for yourself.”

“What about sleep?” Serah asked. “Can you sleep? Can you dream?”

Lightning gave her an odd look. “Gods do not dream, but we do remember. When I sleep, all I do is remember.”

Serah set her food aside. “Is that why you didn’t go back to sleep after I awakened you?”

Lightning’s jaw tightened. “You should sleep. I will keep watch.”

X X X

The smell of food awakened Serah the next morning. She climbed out of the nest of blankets she’d made in the wagon and stared in shock at the sight of Lightning crouched over the fire cooking some stew. It smelled very good indeed, and the rabbit that Lightning had added was not part of their supplies. The goddess must have gone hunting earlier, and Serah wondered if she’d caught the rabbit the way a mortal might, or if she’d simply struck it with a bolt of lightning.

“You’re awake.” Lightning’s gaze never strayed from the stew, but with a flick of her wrist, she flung Serah’s sword at her.

Serah fumbled and nearly dropped the weapon as she realised that she must have left it by the fire the previous night.

“Never forget your weapon,” Lightning said as she turned from the hot stew to pin Serah with her gaze. “Knowing how to use a sword is of little worth if you forget yours by the campfire.” She glanced back at the stew as Serah’s stomach gave an embarrassing rumble. “You may eat after we have trained. I wish to see just what you are capable of.”

Serah rolled her shoulders in an attempt to loosen them. Lightning was about to be sorely disappointed for Serah knew next to nothing about how to handle a blade. Her father had been more than happy to talk to her about swords, but he had never thought to teach her how to use one. There really hadn’t been much need. Still, there was a question that she needed to ask. “Where did you learn to cook?”

Lightning gave the stew one last look and then stood. “The High Mother has many daughters, some quite skilled in this regard.” A look of vague amusement flitted across Lightning’s face. “I was born for battle, but some of them refused to allow me to go about uneducated.” Her eyes darkened. “They welcomed me then despite the differences between us. I doubt they would do the same now.”

Serah paused for a moment. She had always pictured Lightning as aloof and remote of her own choosing. Perhaps she had been wrong. Maybe even a goddess could feel lonely, though if she was, Lightning certainly hid it well. “Oh.”

Lightning shook her head. “Such matters are not your concern.” She glanced at Serah’s sword, which was still in its sheathe. “Draw your weapon.” Though her voice was not sharp, it was firm and brooked no disobedience. Serah shivered. “Attack me and hold nothing back. You need not worry about harming me.” There was no arrogance in the words – they were merely a statement of fact.

Slowly, Serah drew her sword from its sheathe. Only a few moments ago, the weapon had felt almost light, but now, faced with the task of using it, the blade seemed almost too heavy to lift. Lightning’s gaze hardened and Serah felt her palms grow slick as a bead of sweat trickled down her temple. This was no game. The sword in her hands was sharp, the blade honed to a fine edge. She swallowed thickly and then flung herself at Lightning.

She brought the blade around in a rough swing aimed at Lightning’s midsection, but she felt her wrists and shoulders protest at the unfamiliar motion. The weapon moved through the air with almost painful slowness and Lightning simply leaned back a fraction and the strike missed completely. Horribly off balance, Serah had to fight to keep from tripping over her own feet, and she felt heat flood her cheeks as she staggered away. Her embarrassment only increased as Lighting gave her a gentle poke in the back. 

“Dead.”

Serah tightened her hold on her sword. The implication of Lightning’s words was clear. If the goddess had actually bothered to draw her sword and retaliate, Serah would already be dead and it had hardly been more than a few seconds. Mustering her strength, she lunged forward again, and then again, but each strike was evaded with absolute ease. It wasn’t even that Lightning was moving particularly fast or with any special amount of grace. It was simply that Serah had no idea whatsoever about what she was doing. She was finding out that it was one thing to see someone else use a sword, quite another to actually use one herself. Several minutes later, she dropped to her knees. Her breath came in great, heaving gasps, and the sword slipped from her fingers.

Lightning looked down at her, eyes devoid of emotion. “Pathetic.”

Serah felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. She already knew that she was pathetic – the past five minutes had certainly made that clear enough. But that was why she’d asked Lightning to train her. With what little pride she had left, she forced herself to stand and raise her sword again.

Lightning gently tugged the sword from her hands. “At least, that is what I would tell you if you were a trained soldier. For a blacksmith’s daughter who has never been taught how to use a blade, you were not altogether terrible.” Her expression softened for a moment. “We will train each morning before breakfast and again each evening before dinner. Now, you should eat before it gets cold.”

Serah blinked. It took her several seconds to understand what Lightning had just said, but when she did, she gave a happy cry. Before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around Lightning only to freeze a moment later as she realised what she had done. “Uh…”

“Eat,” Lightning said as she pulled away. “It will get cold.” She gave Serah a look that was equal parts sad and pleased. “I have a feeling it will not be long before a sword feels at home in your hands.”

Serah wasn’t quite sure what to make of those words, but the thought of breakfast was certainly pleasing. 

The nearest town of reasonable size was two weeks away by wagon given the rough, often winding nature of the road. However, it wasn’t long before the two of them established a routine. They would take turns guiding the chocobos and the chores were split evenly between them when it came to making and breaking camp. It seemed a little unfair to Serah, given that Lightning never seemed to eat or sleep, but the goddess didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed to take a quiet satisfaction in going about such simple tasks.

As promised, Lightning trained Serah twice each day, once before breakfast and again before dinner. The goddess was a hard taskmaster, and each training session left Serah inordinately glad that they were travelling by wagon rather than on foot. However, Lightning was never cruel, and she seemed to know just how far she could push before Serah hit her limit. 

To Serah’s immense relief, it wasn’t long before the sword began to feel more natural. True, her hands, arms, and shoulders still ached after each training session, but she was beginning to understand just why some people devoted their whole lives to swordsmanship. It was almost like dancing in a way, for each strike demanded precise placement of her feet and proper movement of her body. She savoured every improvement, from learning how to hold a sword properly, to learning how to assume a proper fighting stance. It would likely take her years to achieve true skill with a sword, but having learned a few basic strikes and blocks, she already felt much more confident in her ability to defend herself.

But perhaps the most interesting thing about her training was the way that Lightning acted. The goddess was as stern as always, but there was a strange gentleness in her eyes as she corrected each of Serah’s mistakes and showed her the proper form. Lightning seemed to take genuine satisfaction in helping Serah improve, and Serah couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Lightning had done something like this before.

There was also something about using a sword that made Lightning seem more whole somehow. The goddess seemed utterly at home with a blade in her hands, and more than once Serah had woken early to find Lightning in the midst of some sword exercise that she could never hope to master. Each movement would be perfect, an impossible blend of swiftness and strength that allowed Serah to practically see the imaginary opponents that Lightning faced. She supposed that was a sign of just how good the goddess was. 

Curiously though, Lightning’s sword exercise always ended the same way. It would end with a sweeping parry, one that seemed perfect for deflecting a longer weapon like a spear, and then Lightning’s blade would whip up and across and stop just shy of her imaginary opponent’s throat. When that happened, Lightning would just stop and stare down the length of her sword as though remembering something from long ago. Once, the wind had rustled past, and Serah could have sworn that she heard a voice on the breeze, playful and wild. 

It was midway through their second week of travel when Serah finally got a chance to put her training to use. They made camp that night in a clearing by the side of the road. It was a little exposed, but the woods on either side of the road were too dense to offer anything better. She and Lightning completed their usual routine and then Serah went to bed. She slept soundly for most of the night, but awakened when she heard someone stumbling around their camp.

For a moment, she thought she was dreaming, but as the noises continued, she shook herself awakening fully. It could not be Lightning. The goddess was never clumsy. In fact, she moved so quietly that it was actually a little unnerving. Her pulse quickened as she eased herself out of her blankets and reached for her sword. It was reasonably dark outside, but she could make out an unfamiliar figure by the fire. It was a man dressed in dark clothing, and from the furtive way he moved, it was clear that he was not in search of help. He was a bandit or something similar. 

Memories of what had happened to her village surged to the fore, and Serah had to fight the urge to run and hide. There was nowhere for her to hide and if she tried to run, he would definitely notice her. With one hand over her nose and mouth to quiet the sound of her panicked breathing, she whispered Lightning’s name. Nothing happened. She tried again and then again, but still nothing happened. There was no flash of lightning, no boom of thunder. She was alone.

She shut her eyes tightly. Part of her, a very large part, wanted to run back to her nest of blankets and hide, but that was foolishness. Sooner or later the bandit would check the wagon and when he did, he would find her. Her only choice was to fight and hope for the best. With trembling hands, she lifted her sword and stepped out of the wagon.

“Stop where you are!” she shouted, voice a great deal shakier than she would have liked.

The bandit turned and she flinched as he raked greedy eyes over her. He had a weapon of his own in one hand, a sword. “Well, look at what we have here.” He chuckled and stepped forward. “This might be my lucky day.”

“Don’t come any closer!” Serah warned as she drew her sword. “I’m warning you, stay back!”

The bandit eyed her sword and then laughed. “Look at you, girl, you can barely hold that weapon up. Put it down and I’ll be gentle.”

“I’m warning you, stay back!” Serah screamed. 

The man stepped forward and tried to slap the blade out of Serah’s hands with his own weapon, but to his and Serah’s utter surprise, she managed to keep her hold on her sword. As he faltered for a moment, she lashed out almost wildly. There was a quiet hiss as the blade scored a shallow cut along his arm. His eyes narrowed and he took a step back.

“That was a mistake girl.” He lifted his sword. “And I’ll pay you back tenfold for that.”

The bandit lunged forward and Serah found herself driven back. He was strong, so much stronger than her, yet after more than a week of training with Lightning, he seemed almost painfully slow. Dimly, in the small corner of her mind that wasn’t utterly consumed by panic, she noted the rough way he handled his sword. He swung the weapon almost like it was a club, chopping and hacking with it. In all likelihood, he probably wasn’t all that much better trained than her, simply more experienced.

After blocking a few strikes that left her arms aching from the force behind them, Serah found herself backed up against the wagon. With a growl, the bandit raised his sword and brought it down in another powerful overhead blow. With a strength born of fear and the desperate need to survive, Serah swung her own blade up at an angle. The two blades met with a clang and then the bandit’s sword skittered off hers. For a split-second, he was off balance, and she let loose a cry of effort as she reversed the direction of her sword and struck at his unguarded stomach. 

The bandit gave a terrible shriek as her blade bit deeply into his stomach. Eyes wide with disbelief, he dropped his sword and clutched at the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat as more and more blood gushed from between his fingers. Horrified, she dropped her sword and tried to turn away, but firm arms took hold of her and forced her to watch as he sank onto his knees.

“Look into his eyes, Serah.” It was Lightning, the goddess’ voice a sibilant whisper in Serah’s ear. “Look into his eyes and see the light fade from them. This is what a sword does. This is what it means to kill.” Serah struggled, but Lightning refused to let her turn away. “He deserved his fate. Given the chance, he would have done much worse to you. But understand this. The way of the sword is not beautiful. It is cold, and it is harsh, and it is ugly. There is no glory in battle, only sorrow.”

Finally the man lay still and Lightning’s hold relaxed. Serah tore herself from Lightning’s arms and all but ran into the wagon. Sobbing, she buried herself in her blankets. 

Outside the wagon, Lightning lifted Serah’s sword from where it had fallen. The blade was still covered with the bandit’s blood. 

X X X

Two days passed before Serah could finally bring herself to speak to Lightning again. 

“Why?” Serah asked. “Why did you make me kill him? Why didn’t you help me?”

Lightning looked up from the breakfast that she’d just made. Her eyes were cool, calm. “And how would I have helped you? By killing him? How would that have made things any different?”

Serah clenched her jaw. “I was afraid. So afraid that something would happen and then…” She shuddered, unable to get the image of the dying man out of her mind. “I still see him lying there… and the blood.” She felt bile burn at the back of her throat.

“You wished to learn the way of the sword.” Lightning’s gaze dropped to the sword strapped to Serah’s side. “And now you know what it means.”

“I don’t care!” Serah screamed. For two days she had brooded, and it did not matter anymore that Lightning was a goddess. She had words to speak, and she would speak them one way or the other. “I… I trusted you. You’re supposed to protect me! You promised you would.”

Lightning moved so fast that Serah barely had time to blink before she found herself pressed flat against the side of the wagon. “And what if something were to happen to me? Even a god can be killed.” She eased back a fraction. “You are my chosen, Serah, and for that reason, I will make sure that you are strong enough to stand alone against anyone and anything. You say that you want to feel safe, that you want to control your own destiny. Then do not rely solely on the gods, do not rely solely on me. Seize your own destiny, take it if you must, with the edge of your own sword.”

Serah shivered, caught by the intensity of Lightning’s gaze. “If you wished the best for me, then you would not be so cruel.”

“There is kindness in such cruelty as I have shown you,” Lightning murmured. She drew Serah’s sword from its sheathe and held the blade scant inches from Serah’s face. “Tell me, blacksmith’s daughter, what do you need to make a sword?”

“Steel,” Serah whispered and then her eyes widened. “And fire.”

Lightning nodded. “Yes. A sword untempered by fire is of little worth. In the same way, a heart untempered by fear or doubt will crumble when faced with either. You have felt fear and doubt before – you felt it when the bandits came for your village – but now you know what it feels like to conquer that fear, to strike back even when fear and doubt make you wonder if you can.” She handed Serah the sword. “The road that you have chosen is a hard one. Not all battles can be fought with steel, but steel can teach us something all the same.” She stepped back and drew her own sword. “If you understand that, then step forward and face me again.”

Slowly, very slowly, Serah raised her sword and stepped forward. “I don’t know if I can be like you.”

Lightning smiled sadly. “I would never wish for you to be.” Her eyes softened. “I know that killing that man sickens you despite what he would have done. That is what makes you different from him.”

“And different from you?” Serah asked softly.

Lightning said nothing at all, but to Serah, that alone said a great deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> So, here we have a big chapter all about Serah and Lightning. I had originally planned to have them meet a certain some (just who, I won’t say), but the chapter was already long enough as it was, and this seemed a good place to stop.
> 
> Now, I won’t say too much about the content of this chapter other than to point out that as a character, Serah needed to grow. She’s spent her whole life in the village and with that has come a sort of naivety, one that the bandit attack stripped away. If she is going to have any chance at all of surviving outside the village, she is going to need to toughen up, something that Lightning understands all too well despite how long she has been sleeping. As for Lightning’s view of the sword and what it means, well, you’ll have to wait a little longer to find out just why she feels that way.
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	4. The Captain and the General

**The Captain and the General**

“Father, these men want to see you.”

Sazh glanced up from the chair leg he was working on. Over by the door of his workshop were his son, Dajh, and two men. One of them was familiar enough, although he had grown even taller since Sazh had last seen him. The other man, however, was not, and Sazh took a moment to pin the brown haired man with his gaze. 

“Show them in, son. A customer is always welcome here.” Sazh gestured vaguely at the contents of his workshop. “Take a look around, see if there is anything you like.”

The taller of the two men met Sazh’s gaze evenly and nodded. “Thank you.”

Sazh glanced back at the half-finished chair leg in front of him. “It’s no trouble.”

For the next few minutes, he watched the two men out of the corner of his eye. It was almost comical watching the taller of the two wander through the cramped confines of the workshop. However, if it bothered him, the taller man gave no sign of it. Instead, he seemed content to look over all the tables, chairs, and other finely crafted pieces of furniture in the workshop with a keen and interested eye. The other man, however, was a different story. His lips were pulled tight, and his eyes held only a vague irritation. Clearly, he did not want to be there.

“You’re welcome to look as long as you please,” Sazh said to the taller of the two before his gaze flicked to the shorter man. “But your friend there might be better off waiting outside.”

A small smile crossed the taller man’s lips. “Yes, perhaps that would be best.” He glanced at the door. “Rygdea, wait outside.”

Rygdea’s eyes widened for a moment. “General Raines –”

“It’s all right,” the general said. “This matter is something that would best be handled personally.” He turned back to Sazh. “Isn’t that right?”

“I think so.” Sazh waved Dajh over and dug a few coins out of his pocket. “Take this, son. It’s early morning yet, and I know you haven’t had breakfast. The baker should be putting on a few fresh loaves now. Go down there and buy us two and get yourself a few sweet rolls.”

The boy grinned. “Really? It’s okay for me to get some sweet rolls?”

Sazh nodded. “Just today though. It’s a treat for all the hard work you’ve been doing. Now run along, I’m just going to talk with this man here.” He nodded at the general. “Take your time, son.”

Once Dajh had left the workshop, Sazh looked back at Rygdea. “I think your general gave you an order, soldier. What are you still doing here?”

The other man bristled and Sazh felt his lips twitch. A soldier’s pride was something Sazh understood better than most. With a final glare at Sazh, Rygdea turned on his heel and swept out of the workshop, shutting the door behind him. 

“Rygdea is a good man, Sazh, and an even better soldier. However, it would not be wise to address him in such a manner.” General Raines’s voice was a mixture of amusement and reproach. “But then again, you never were particularly formal, were you, Captain Katzroy?”

Sazh frowned. “I’m not a captain any more, Cid. I haven’t been one for a long time.” He waved at the chair on the opposite side of the workbench. “Sit down. I feel awkward just watching you.” He chuckled. “You always were too tall for your own good, and it looks like the years have only made that worse.”

Cid sat, the motion somehow graceful despite his height and the armour that he wore. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Sazh?” 

“Yes, it has.” Sazh shrugged. “And just when did they make you a general?”

“Four years ago, after the last campaign I led against the Yun.” Something that could almost have been regret flashed through Cid’s eyes. “I didn’t win, but unlike all of the others before me, I actually managed to do some damage.”

“That’s something, I suppose.” Sazh picked up the chair leg. The general shape of the thing was already in place, but there was a lot of fine detail to be added, to say nothing of the smoothing and lacquering that would be required. “But I’m sure you didn’t come here just to see an old friend.” He put the chair leg down and turned the full weight of his gaze on Cid. “Speak plainly, Cid. Why are you here.”

Cid leaned forward. “If you wish me to blunt, then I shall be.” He paused. “I trust that you have heard the whispers of the war brewing upon the plains of Oerba.”

Sazh nodded. He had heard the talk, all right. Everyone had. It had gone from village to village, spreading like thunder through a storm-ruined sky ahead of an army that, by all accounts, already numbered in the tens of thousands. “I’ve heard the rumours, but I think we both know that they are more than just rumours. Every week the price of steel goes up, and every week, there is fewer and fewer produce to be had at the markets. An army might fight with steel, but it lives off grain.”

“Your mind is as keen as ever,” Cid said. “That is good to know.”

“Even an old dragon is still a dragon.” Sazh reached for a cloth to wipe some of the sawdust off his hands. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

Cid was not, by nature, a particularly violent man. But he had not risen through the ranks of the military by allowing others to treat him poorly. There were precious few men that he would allow to address him in such a manner, but Sazh was one of them. The other man had earned that right, earned it on a dozen battlefields strewn with blood and flame. Years might have passed since they’d seen each other, but the bonds of the battlefield were not the type to fade before the passage of mere time. 

“The High Council of Eden has ordered me to take the plains of Oerba.” Cid’s face and voice revealed nothing of his thoughts. “The plains of Oerba would provide an ideal staging point for further attacks on the native clans while also serving as a bulwark against attacks on our western territories.”

“And you’re still not answering my question.” Sazh tapped his fingers along the half-finished chair leg. “You have tens of thousands of men at your disposal, the backing of the High Council, and your own talents. Why come here?”

Cid’s eyes hardened. “There are rumours, strong rumours, that the dragons have stirred, that, as in the ancient days, they now fight alongside the native clans.” His gaze settled on Sazh. “And if those rumours are true, then I shall need every commander of skill that I can muster – especially one who has faced a dragon and lived.” His eyes drifted over the contents of the workshop. “It is time for you to come back, Sazh, to cast aside this life and return to what you do best.”

Sazh’s eyes narrowed and for the first time in a long time, he felt anger – real anger – course through his veins. “This life may not look like much to you, but it is mine, and it is not something that I would cast aside so easily.” Something of the soldier he had once been must have stirred because Cid was no longer relaxed in his chair. Instead, the tall man’s body was poised for action, one hand already on the grip of his sword. “My days of fighting are done, Cid. I have given much – more than any man should have to for the sake of Cocoon, for the sake of the High Council. If the day comes that I have to defend this village and its people, then I will, and without a moment’s doubt or hesitation. But until that day comes, this workshop is who I am.” He made a disgusted sound. “And you know as well as I do that if the dragons truly have joined the clans, then your war on Oerba is doomed, along with you and all of your men.”

Cid eased his hand away from his sword. Sazh might not have a blade of his own around, but Cid didn’t think for a moment that the other man was helpless. In Sazh’s hands, a woodworking tool would be every bit as deadly as a blade. Still, Sazh was not the kind of man to start a fight, though he was definitely the kind of man to finish one. “Even so, Sazh, you know that as a general, I must carry out the orders of the High Council. It is my duty.”

Sazh laughed, but it was harsh, bitter sound. “Duty? You speak of your duty to the High Council, but what of your duty to yourself, to your men? There is no honour in marching blindly to your death.” A look of disgust crossed his face. “The plains of Oerba are broad and open, with no trace of cover. If you are lucky, you might get a few days of travel in before the dragons turn them into a sea of blood and fire. At best, a few dragons might fall to your spears and arrows, but at what price? A thousand men for each dragon, more?” 

Cid’s eyes drifted to the top of the table. The wood was smooth, the grain of it going from left to right. “It is the will of the High Council. As their leading general it is my duty to carry out their will.”

Sazh’s anger faded and in its place he felt only pity. Cid was a good man, but good men were all too often forced to fall upon their swords. “How can you do this, Cid? It is suicide.”

“You know as well as I do that this war has been a long time coming.” Cid’s hands tightened into fists. “Whether I lead it or not, the High Council is determined to go to war. If I refused, they would simply have one of their others generals lead the campaign, and not one of them can match me. Whatever losses I suffer leading this campaign, I know they would suffer more.”

“Perhaps.” Sazh closed his eyes. “But you have seen first hand the fury of a dragon in battle. Do you remember what happened that night?” 

Cid’s voice was tight. “I could not possibly forget.”

X X X

“Captain.”

Sazh looked up from the map spread across the table. He smiled thinly. He would know that slightly nervous, yet determined voice anywhere. “Lieutenant Raines.”

The tall man – boy, Sazh thought sometimes, he was that much older than him – stepped into the tent and raised his hand in a perfect solute. “May I speak freely?”

Sazh chuckled. Cid was a fine soldier despite his youth, skilled with a blade and quick with his wits. However, he was also a stickler from protocol something that could easily get him killed one day. “At ease, lieutenant. Speak freely.”

Cid relaxed a fraction. “You’ve been nervous all day, sir. May I ask why?”

A smile tugged at Sazh’s lips. Despite his adherence to protocol, Cid had a tendency to be rather blunt. It was refreshing, actually, for Sazh had long since tired of the false flattery that so many used to try and curry favour. “You’ve been paying attention. That’s good.” He gestured at the map in front of him. “Come here and look at the map.” Cid stepped forward and took a position opposite Sazh at the table. “This is where we are. At first glance, it looks like we’re in a strong defensive position. We’re on top of a large rocky outcrop with nothing but open ground around us. If anyone tries to attack, we’ll see them coming well before they get here and once they do, the sides of the outcrop are steep enough to make it tricky.”

“That does seem to be the case, sir.” Cid paused. “But that makes me wonder why the Dia didn’t adopt a defensive position here. Had they done so, we would have been hard pressed to dislodge them.”

Sazh nodded. “That’s right. The Dia might be craftsmen and healers by trade, but they can fight too, when they need to.” He grimaced. “And that’s not even taking into account the fact that there’s a shrine up here. As far as I know, the natives have always fought to defend their shrines. Put all of that together, and it almost seems like they’re setting a trap for us.”

Cid frowned. “It may seem that way, but what kind of trap can they spring? As you’ve said, they cannot approach us without being seen, and we have already searched the shrine. Apart from a few old offerings, there is nothing there. They could call for reinforcements, but we have a thousand men here already, enough to hold off ten time that number given our positions. Besides, our own reinforcements are only a week away.”

“A week is a long time, Cid, and if they call for reinforcements, then our ability to hold off those reinforcements will depend very much on just who those reinforcements are.” Sazh frowned. “If it’s just more Dia, we can handle them. But if they call and the Yun answer, we may be in trouble.” Cid opened his mouth to speak, but Sazh cut him off. “Believe me, Cid. The Yun are not like the other clans. They worship battle, give praise to their goddess with each swing of their blades. They are raised for battle, Cid, driven to excel at it with a harshness that we would find barbaric. Never, ever underestimate them.”

“Have you fought them, sir?” Cid asked.

“Yes.” Sazh’s jaw clenched. “And I have the scars to prove it.”

“Still, the Yun Mountains are some distance from here. Even if the Yun were to come to the aid of the Dia, it would take them some time to arrive,” Cid said. “If there is a trap being laid, I cannot see it.” 

A sudden commotion from outside the tent made both of them turn. Cid went to the flap of the tent and opened it.

“What is it, solider?” Cid asked.

The young man at the flap of the tent looked past Cid toward Sazh. “Captain, we caught one of the Dia sneaking around near the base of the outcrop. Would you like to question him now?”

A prisoner? Sazh nodded. “Take me to him.”

The walk through the camp was swift. In accordance with the usual procedures, they had done their best to fortify their position and set up an orderly camp. A wooden stockade had been placed around the top of the outcrop along with several watchtowers. Inside the camp, the tents had been pitched in neat rows with several broad thoroughfares leading from one side of the camp to the other. It had been an onerous task, but it would make defending their position much easier.

As they walked toward where the prisoner was being kept, Sazh took a few moments to study the faces of his soldiers. It was already well past dusk, but the campfires provided more than enough light for him to see. The men were in good shape, he thought, a little tired perhaps, but that was understandable. They’d fought several hard battles to reach this outcrop, and survived weeks of constant harassment from Dia skirmishers. Still, the ease with which they’d taken and secured the outcrop had lifted the men’s morale, so much so that despite their tiredness, there was a general air of good cheer. An easily defended location meant security and the chance for a good night’s rest, something that few of them had been able to enjoy for quite some time.

A few minutes later, Sazh reached the tent where they were keeping the prisoner. The guards at the front saluted him and he brushed past them into the tent itself. Immediately, the scent of blood hit him, and he heard a growl leave his lips as he took in the state of the prisoner. Judging from the man’s clothes, he was a Dia scout, but what really drew Sazh’s eyes were the injuries. One of the man’s eyes was swollen shut, the other little better, and there was blood dripping from his nose and mouth. Just who had caused the injuries was easy to see – one of his men still had one hand wrapped around the Dia’s throat, and the other drawn back to strike him again.

“What do you think you are doing?” Sazh growled. He was a soldier, and he would kill given the need, but petty thuggery disgusted him. 

“He wouldn’t talk, sir,” the soldier replied. “I was making him talk.”

Sazh slanted a look at Cid out of the corner of his eye. The young man’s eyes had narrowed dangerously, but otherwise, his expression remained as calm as ever. “You should know by now, soldier, that prisoners are only to be questioned with an officer present.” He let his gaze sharpen until the soldier dropped the Dia and stumbled away. “And you should also know that a man can’t talk if you break his jaw and smash his teeth in.”

“Sir –”

“Save your excuses.” Sazh jerked his head at the flap of the tent. “Leave.” Shame faced, the soldier departed and Sazh turned his attention back to the Dia man. “You, can you speak? What is your name?”

The Dia’s response was to spit at Sazh’s feet. Idly, Sazh noticed that apart from blood, there was also a tooth on his shoe. One of the soldiers immediately lunged forward, but Sazh snapped one arm out to bar his path.

“Don’t. If we hit him anymore than we already have, he won’t be able to talk.” Sazh put one foot on the Dia’s chest and pushed. With his hands bound, the Dia toppled onto his back. “Speak, Dia, and I will have your wounds treated. Don’t, and you’ll stay as you are.”

The Dia simply laughed. “As if I would trust the word of a Cocoon viper. By sunrise, all of you will be dead.”

That brought chuckles from the others, but neither Sazh nor Cid joined them. The Dia’s eyes had blazed with conviction. He truly did believe everything he’d said.

“And how exactly is that going to happen?” Sazh asked. “Well?”

The Dia smiled, the expression horrible through all the blood. “Look at the shrine behind you, fool. See to whom it belongs. The goddess of the wind does not tolerate your kind, you who have taken the names of the gods in vain, you who spit upon the sacrifice of the High Mother and wage war upon the innocent.” He laughed. “Her children will tear your limb from limb.”

“He’s bluffing,” one of the soldiers growled. “We’ve searched the area thoroughly, captain. There’s no one around for miles. These plains belong to us.”

But Sazh was silent. The Dia’s words had struck a chord in him and he felt a chill sweep over him as he thought of the shrine. He’d first seen it just after dawn a few days ago. It belonged to the goddess of the wind and standing in front of it was a statue of the goddess. She had a wild beauty to her, raw and untamed, and flanking her on either side were a pair of dragons, her so-called children. For just a second as he’d stared at the statute, he could have sworn that it had stared back, but the moment had passed, and he’d been left with nothing more than a chill that had yet to leave him. 

Oh, he understood what the Dia was saying now. “Tell the guards to watch the skies,” Sazh barked. “If there is an attack coming, it won’t be from the Dia or the Yun. It will be from a dragon.”

“A dragon?” one of the soldiers breathed, voice tense with sudden fear.

“Yes,” Sazh said. He pinned the Dia with a glare. “Isn’t that right? After all, dragons are supposed to belong to that goddess of yours, aren’t they?” He spun on his heel and shoved his way out of the tent as Cid fell into step beside him. “Lieutenant, I need our ballistae and archers prepared and ready. If there is a dragon coming, then they are our best –”

Whatever else Sazh wanted to say was drowned out by the tremendous reptilian roar that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The sheer loudness of it drove him to his knees, but as the cry faded, he scrambled to his feet and turned his eyes to the sky.

“Where is it?” Sazh murmured. “Come on, where is it?”

He received his answer a moment later as an enormous winged shape slipped past the moon. For a split-second the dragon was silhouetted in pale sliver light before it furled its wings and dove toward the camp.

“Move!” Sazh roared as he broke into a run away from the main road through camp. “Lieutenant, get to our archers and ballistae. Get to them now!”

Cid nodded and sprinted toward the other end of camp. Sazh watched him go and then gazed up just in time to see the moonlight glitter off the dragon’s scales as it drew its head back and took a deep breath in.

And then there was fire.

The force of the blast tossed Sazh through the air and he skidded through the dirt until he finally came to a rest against a half-toppled tent. Dazed, he staggered to his feet, his ears ringing, and his head still spinning. There was fire everywhere. The whole road was one big river of it, a seething, writhing tide of flame that leapt from tent to tent with all the ease of a spring breeze. As the ringing in his ears faded to a dull roar, it was replaced by screaming. A man ran past him covered in flames, armour half melted by the heat. All along the main road there were others, some of them already dead, but others still screaming as they burned alive in the dragon’s fire. 

“Captain!” a soldier grabbed him by the arm. “Captain what do we do?” There were others beside him as well, all of them looking to Sazh for some idea of what to do. 

Sazh shook his head to try and clear it. The dragon was banking around for another attack, and there was precious little they could do about it. “Gather up what archers you can find. Have them target the wings and eyes.” He clenched his fists. “Get our wounded into the shrine. I do not know how much shelter it can offer, but it is better than being out here in the open.” He swallowed thickly. “The rest of you come with me.”

Barely able to see through the smoke that had begun to fill the air, Sazh led a group of soldiers toward the ballistae. There were those that believed dragons to be mere beasts, but Sazh was not one of them. That first attack had been perfectly executed. The camp was cut in half by a river of fire and more than half of their siege weaponry was probably already destroyed. 

Glancing back, he saw the dragon sweep over the camp again. It spewed a torrent of fire as it swept past, and he saw two of the watchtowers catch fire and collapse along with huge chunks of the stockade. With another sharp cry, the dragon banked again and landed on top of the shrine that took up most of the outcrop.

With the dragon still for the first time, Sazh could finally get an accurate idea of how large it was. He shivered. It was enormous, perhaps a hundred feet in length with scales the colour of fresh blood. In the firelight, the dragon’s eyes were twin pools of molten gold, and there was an intelligence in them that shook Sazh to his core. And then the dragon’s mouth opened once more and its form was lost in a cloud of fire even bigger than it was. 

Sazh reached the ballistae and cursed. Most of them had already been destroyed, their wooden frames little match for the dragon’s fire. However, there were still four of the siege weapons left, and he hastened to prepare them.

“Ready the ballistae!” Sazh roared. A few of the soldiers staggered about, still dazed from the fury of the dragon’s initial assault. “Hurry, we have a few moments at best before that dragon notices the threat we pose. Never mind procedure, get these ballistae loaded as quickly as you can!”

One of the ballistae was ready within moments, but as they prepared to fire on the dragon, Sazh stopped them. “Hold your fire! A dragon that size will not suffer at the tip of a single ballista bolt. We have to fire together if we are to have any chance at all.”

As the other soldiers rushed to ready the rest of the ballistae, Sazh turned his eyes back to the dragon. With the centre of the camp awash with flame, the dragon had taken a position atop the shrine. Thankfully, his earlier orders to evacuate the wounded into the shrine had been abandoned in favour of trying to carry some of the wounded down the rugged side of the outcrop. It was a dangerous ploy, but the dragon’s attention seemed elsewhere as it unfurled its wings and roared flame and defiance into the sky. No wonder the natives viewed the dragons as the rulers of the sky. What could possibly challenge such a creature?

There was a hiss and Sazh shifted his gaze to where Cid had managed to gather their remaining archers. The young man had split the archers up to try and make them less vulnerable to the dragon’s fire, and though Sazh doubted mere arrows would be of any use, they nevertheless seemed to draw the dragon’s attention.

“Come on,” Sazh roared as he turned back to the ballistae. “Hurry, we haven’t much time!”

Finally, all four ballistae were ready and Sazh raised his sword. “Fire on my mark! Aim for its belly and wings.” He waited for the dragon to rear up once more, its underbelly exposed as it spewed fire at Cid and the archers. “Fire!”

Sazh shuddered as four enormous steel tipped bolts ripped through the air above them. They moved too fast for him to see, but even so, the dragon somehow seemed to sense them coming. Faster than something its size had a right to move, the dragon twisted to the left. One of the ballista bolts went wide and ripped a hole right through the upper part of the shrine. A second bolt was slapped aside by the dragon’s tail, but the third managed to clip the side of the dragon’s stomach. With a roar of pain and fury, the dragon jerked back and the fourth bolt pierced the webbing of its left wing and pinned it back against the hard stone of the shrine.

An ear-piercing shriek filled the air as the dragon tore its wing free and leapt off the shrine. A group of pikemen charged at once, more brave than wise, and a single sweep of the dragon’s claws smashed them like so much kindling. Its huge molten gold eyes narrowed in fury as fiery blood dripped from its wounded wing. With a roar, its jaws snapped open and Sazh saw the glow of flames gather within its gaping maw.

“Run!” Sazh shouted. “Abandon the ballistae. Go!”

He and the others had mere moments to run before a wave of flame incinerated the ballistae. Sazh stumbled to his feet some distance away, vaguely aware that only half of the ballistae operators had managed to escape, and of those that had, perhaps another half had been horribly burned. The smell of burning wood, melting metal, and cooking flesh made him gag, but he forced himself to keep moving. As long as he was alive, he would keep fighting. Whether it was for himself or his men, he could no longer be sure, but dragons did not accept surrender. He and his men would either win, or they would die.

“Captain!” one of his men grabbed him and tugged him along one of the smaller roads through the camp. Unlike the main road, it was still passable enough. “Captain, what are your orders?”

Sazh blinked several times and then gathered himself. The dragon had turned its attention toward Cid and the remaining archers, but in doing so it had put its side flush against one of the rough ridges of stone that marked the top of the outcrop. It was close to suicide, but Sazh had an idea.

“Gather as many men as you can, quickly.” He clenched his jaw. “And if we have any liquid fire at all, then bring that too.”

It didn’t take long for the soldier to return – there weren’t that many men left – and Sazh turned to address them quickly.

“What we’re going to do is simple. The dragon is distracted. We’re going to get up on that ridge and get onto its back.” He held up a flask of liquid fire, the viscous black liquid filling the air with its acrid scent. “I know for a fact that mere fire cannot hurt a dragon’s scales, but perhaps fire can still hurt its eyes.” He drew in a deep breath and coughed. There was so much smoke in the air. “So, get on its back, and try to get to its head. Go for its eyes. If we’re lucky, we might be able to drive it off, because I don’t think we can kill it.” He turned on his heel. “Let’s go.”

He led them up onto the stone ridge as the dragon continued to turn its fury on Cid and his archers. Sazh had to hand it to the young man – somehow, he’d managed to keep the dragon occupied for several whole minutes, although it had cost him almost all of their archers. 

Inching along the ridge, Sazh took a moment to steady himself as the dragon lunged forward to swallow a man whole. For a split-second, its whole body was spread out before him almost level and with a curse on his lips, he hurled himself forward. The other men did the same, and Sazh let loose a scream.

He hit the dragon’s back hard, skidding along the scales as the dragon registered their presence and bucked wildly to the side. Several men were thrown off immediately, dashed against the stone ridge. Sazh grunted as something in his side gave way. Pain made him drop his sword, but he managed to pull himself together enough to go for the dagger at his side. He jammed the smaller blade down as hard as he could, but it skittered off the dragon’s thick scales. Screaming, he slid toward the edge of the dragon’s broad back as its spun, but finally, the dagger caught between two scales and he jerked to a stop. A ragged cry burst from his lips as his shoulder threatened to pop out of the socket, but he held fast. With all of his strength, he pulled himself up and found his feet on the dragon’s back.

Dazed, Sazh looked around. Only a handful of his men had managed to keep their place on the dragon’s back, and they all shared a look before they broke into a mad dash for the dragon’s head. It was insanity, he thought, as the dragon’s tail lashed up to sweep one man away before a huge claw closed around another. Ducking and diving, Sazh struggled to keep his footing as the dragon continued to jerk and shudder to try and throw him and the others off. A hundred yards – that was the length of the dragon – yet now it seemed it could easily have been a thousand. Each moment seemed to go on forever, and from his perch on the dragon’s shoulders, Sazh saw the whole camp laid out before him. The stockade and watchtowers were gone, burnt to cinders, and so were most of the tents. Men ran everywhere, many of them on fire, and the air seemed almost to glow an oily orange from all the smoke and flames.

And then he was on the dragon’s head. 

He tumbled off the crown of its head as it flung its neck back. He went airborne, and below him he saw the dragon’s jaws open wide to swallow him whole. But out of nowhere came a single ballista bolt. The projectile shot toward the dragon’s exposed throat, and it jerked its head down to catch the bolt between its teeth. There was a snap as it broke the bolt in two, never mind the fact that the projectile was as thick as a tree trunk. As for Sazh, he tumbled through the air and landed with a crunch right in front of one of the dragon’s enormous golden eyes. Ribs aching from the force of the impact, he staggered to his feet and shoved his dagger forward. The blade struck the film over the dragon’s eyes and bounced off, but Sazh would not be deterred. He struck again and again, and with his other hand, he reached for the flask of liquid fire and tossed it into the dragon’s eye.

The dragon loosed a bellow of outrage, and Sazh had to fight to keep his position, one hand locked onto the ridge of bone above the dragon’s eye, the other used to drive the dagger forward again and again. A curse bubbled up from his lips. How could anything have an eye this tough? Suddenly there was a spark – his dagger must have caught one of the dragon’s scales – and the liquid fire on the dragon’s eye ignited.

Sazh was flung off the dragon as it jerked its head back with a howl of agony. Flames filled the sky as the dragon tossed its head back and forth and clawed at its face. Dimly, Sazh was aware of another ballista bolt flying through the air to catch the dragon in its wounded wing.

“Captain!” It was Cid. “Captain, are you all right?”

Sazh let the tall young man drag him to his feet as the dragon flapped its wings. A tremendous gale knocked both of them back, and to Sazh’s utter disbelief, the dragon managed to take to the air despite its injured wing. It circled the camp screaming its rage and then let loose a blast of flame that seemed to turn the whole outcrop into a sea of fire.

When the flames dimmed, Sazh could barely breathe. The fire had stolen the very breath from his lungs, and his face was covered in soot. More importantly, however, the dragon was gone, its massive shape outlined briefly by the moon before it vanished to the west.

“We’ve won, captain,” Cid murmured. During the battle, great sections of his armour had broken off, and his body looked to be a mass of cuts and bruises. “The dragon is gone.”

Sazh shook his head and looked around. “Won?” He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Look around you, lieutenant. I doubt we did any permanent damage to that dragon’s eye, and I know its wing will heal. It might be gone, but most of us are dead.”

Morning came more slowly than Sazh would have liked. Of the thousand men who had lived only a night before, only two hundred or so remained. With their fortifications in ruins and their numbers only a shadow of what they had been, Sazh ordered a retreat. There was no way of knowing if the dragon would return, but the smoke would be seen for miles. If they stayed, the Dia would come, and Sazh wasn’t stupid enough to think that he would be able to hold them off with the men he had left. 

Before they left, they buried their dead. Normally, it would have taken them days, but the dragon’s fire had done much of their work for them. Nothing remained of most of the dead save for ashes and armour melted into unrecognisable lumps of steel.

X X X

“The night that dragon came for us, you did the best you could,” Cid murmured.

Sazh chuckled quietly. “The best I could was not good enough. Eight hundred men died that night, Cid. Men who’d trusted me with their lives.”

“Even so,” Cid replied, “Ours has been the only force to encounter a dragon of that size and survive. That, Sazh, is worthy of praise. Eight hundred men may have died, but two hundred lived because you chose to fight and fight well. Had we run, the dragon would have burned us all at its leisure.”

“Regardless of what has happened in the past, Cid, I am not going back. I have spilt enough blood. My son is my life now, and this workshop is my home.” Sazh looked toward the door. “I think you’ve stayed long enough.”

Cid nodded. “Perhaps I have.” He reached into the folds of the cloak he wore over his armour and pushed a scroll across the table to Sazh. “It won’t be long now. The High Council has ordered for the conscription of more troops. This is your exemption from that order. After everything you’ve taught me, it is the least that I can do.”

Sazh closed his hands around the scroll. “You always were a good man, Cid.”

“A good man? Perhaps. Now, however, I must be a good solider.” The tall man stood and extended his hand over the table. “It has been good seeing you again, Sazh. I wish you and your son the best.” He paused. “I heard about your wife. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologise for things that were not your fault.” Sazh took Cid’s hand and shook it. “Take care of yourself, Cid.”

Cid nodded. “I will.” He turned on his heel and opened the door to the workshop. There was a clatter as Rygdea jerked back to attention. “Come on, Rygdea, we are leaving.”

Sazh watched Cid go and felt a rueful smile slip across his lips. Somehow, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t see the other man again. 

X X X

“Father, come outside, look!”

Sazh looked away from the chair he was working on. “What is it, son?” It had been a few weeks since Cid’s visit, and since then the wind had borne an eerie chill that only he seemed to feel.

“Just come outside and look, father!”

Sighing, Sazh got up and ambled out of his workshop. It did not take him long to see what had Dajh so excited. To the west toward Oerba, the sky seemed an oily orange, stained by distant flame and smoke.

Dragon fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> So… Sazh appears. I had to think a little bit about whether I was going to let his wife be alive in this or not, but given how harsh I’ve been with a few of the characters so far, I decided that it might be best for him to be raising Dajh on his own.
> 
> When I was initially thinking about this chapter, I was going to have Sazh selling his wares in one of the larger towns where, through his interactions with others it would become obvious that he had once been in the military. However, it only took a few sentences before I realised that didn’t feel right. The introduction of Cid as a former subordinate turned general made for what I feel is a much better chapter.
> 
> Also, in case it isn’t clear, I think dragons are awesome. No, seriously, there is something unbelievably awesome about a winged leviathan capable of unleashing fiery death on everything. I’ve wanted to write something with dragons in it for a while now, but it’s only now that I’ve gotten the chance. Can you imagine, for instance, how ridiculous dragons would have looked in Stetons and Fal’Cie?
> 
> As for what happened to Cid and his forces on the plains of Oerba, you’ll be finding out more about that. After all, we haven’t heard back from Vanille in a while now…
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	5. The Way of the Yun

**The Way of the Yun**

For several long moments, Vanille could scarcely bring herself to move as Bahamut took to the air. Each beat of the great dragon’s wings rang out like thunder and the wind rushed past so swiftly that she feared she might be swept right out of the dragon’s claws. But as strong as her fear was, her curiosity was even stronger. What would the world look like from this high up?

Gingerly, she crept over to the edge of the Bahamut’s claw and peered down. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t. They were so high off the ground that the tall, thin trees that clung stubbornly to the slopes of the mountains were little more than toothpicks. And the speed – ground that had taken her entire days to cover flashed past in what felt like mere minutes.

In almost no time at all, they drew close to the village, and Vanille let out a scream that was equal parts excitement and terror as Bahamut plunged straight through a low hanging cloud. Wiping moisture from her face, she couldn’t help but cringe as the first few villagers caught sight of the dragon and simply turned tail and ran. Had the situation not been so serious, she would have smiled. The Yun were famous for their bravery. To see several running away in something close to absolute terror was not something that she thought she would ever see. Not that she blamed them. A normal sized dragon was terrifying enough. A three hundred feet long leviathan like Bahamut was something else altogether.

Yet in true Yun fashion, it didn’t take the people inside the village long to gather their courage. As Bahamut thundered through the air over the village, she even saw a few of them ready their spears and bows. A little worried now – not for herself – but for them, she tried to get Bahamut’s attention.

“Please don’t do anything,” she shouted as she waved one arm in the air to try and draw the dragon’s eye. “They’re just frightened.” Despite all the snide comments and insults that she had received, she did not want to see the village obliterated. And it would definitely be obliterated if the villagers attacked and Bahamut chose to retaliate.

Several arrows clattered off Bahamut’s scales and she winced. “Perhaps we should stop flying over the village.”

Bahamut’s massive head craned around to look at her and she got the distinct impression that the dragon was more amused than angry. That was something, she supposed, although any relief she might have felt vanished as the dragon flashed first her and then the villagers below them a very toothy smile.

As another barrage of arrows headed toward them, Bahamut banked away to land on the broad slope just outside the village. It was the only place large enough for him to land, and his wings kicked up a great spray of snow a he first slowed his descent and then landed with a deep, earth-shaking crunch. 

The villagers hastened to the walls of the village with their spears and arrows at the ready. They were close enough that Vanille could see the tension running through them along with the mix of fear and courage in their eyes. They had to realise how little protection a mere wall would provide against a dragon of Bahamut’s size, but they were also Yun, and that meant they would fight to defend their village against anyone – or anything – that sought to harm it.

For several minutes, no one moved. Vanille would have climbed down, but Bahamut seemed content to let her dangle in his claw as he flashed that same toothy grin at the Yun. It was almost like he was teasing them. Finally, someone emerged from the village. It was the old Yun woman, and there was a grin on her face to match Bahamut’s as she slogged through the snow. 

The old woman stopped a few yards from Bahamut. “It has been a very, very long time since I have seen you.” She chuckled. “Have you grown?” The dragon chortled, a sound very much at odds with his fearsome appearance. “In any case, I apologise for the rude welcome. My sisters have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

The dragon glanced from the old woman to the Yun still inside the village and chortled again. The meaning of the sound was not lost on the Yun and Vanille saw many of them bristle at the implied insult. However, none of them made any move to join the old woman outside the walls.

“It is good to see you again, but I trust you have not come here without a reason.” The old woman peered up at Bahamut’s claws. “Who is that you have there?”

Bahamut’s grin widened and he lowered Vanille to the ground. Had she been alone, she would have dropped to her knees and kissed the ground in gratitude, but mindful of her audience, she managed to sketch a rough bow in the direction of the old woman.

“Um… hi.” Vanille winced. That really hadn’t sounded very clever at all.

The old woman just stared at her and Vanille had to force herself not to fidget as every single person in the village gawked at her. Then the old woman began to laugh, a great, joyful sound that shook her whole body.

“You’ve done it, young Dia,” the old woman cried. “You’ve won the Trial!”

The words were scarcely out of the old woman’s mouth when chaos broke out along the walls of the village. Cries of disbelief filled the air along with no small number of curses, but all of them were silenced a second later as Bahamut opened his mouth and roared. The cry shook the whole mountain and the dragon’s gaze raked over the villagers.

“Be nice,” Vanille said as firmly as she could. The goddess had forbidden her dragons from eating Vanille, but she hadn’t said anything about them not eating anyone else. Hopefully, though the dragon wouldn’t interpret any insults toward Vanille as insults toward the goddess’s judgement. 

High, high above her, Bahamut’s eyes narrowed even further before he finally relaxed. The tension bled from his enormous frame and with a grace that belied his size, he sank onto his belly and curled his tail around himself. He looked almost like a cat – albeit a ridiculously huge one – and he cast one last warning look at the village before he lowered his head onto his claws and closed his eyes. Vanille hoped that he didn’t fall asleep because she didn’t even want to imagine what it would be like if he got cranky at being woken up. Still, he was providing her and the old Yun woman with a rather convenient windbreak.

“So, young Dia” the old Yun woman said. “You have returned to us, and on the wings of Bahamut, the oldest and mightiest of dragons.” She smiled. “Tell me, how was your meeting with the goddess?”

Vanille took a moment to try and gather her thoughts. Things had seemed a lot clearer up on the mountain, but perhaps that was the goddess’s doing. Fang had a way about her, a sureness of purpose despite her seemingly easygoing nature that made everything seem clear and certain. She had felt safe with Fang, like nothing could possibly go wrong. Now, however, with a whole village of Yun staring at her, she wasn’t so sure anymore. If only she hadn’t lost her pack – she could certainly have used a calming potion about now.

“Well… um… it went pretty well.” Vanille winced again. “I mean, we talked and she said that she’d chosen me and…”

The old Yun woman gave her a gentle smile. “And she was not quite what you expected, was she? Perhaps much less formal?” She nodded almost to herself. “But that is neither here nor there. What matters is that you have returned, and the manner of your return means that there can be no doubt about you winning her favour.” She put one hand on Vanille’s shoulder. “Lift your chin, young Dia, and stand tall. You are the first of your clan to ever win the Trial.”

Vanille’s cheeks flushed at the praise. “Thank you, honoured elder.” She looked past the old woman to the walls of the village. The warriors gathered there still looked a little stunned. “What now?” In truth, Vanille hadn’t really spent much time studying the rituals that took place after someone won the Trial. She’d been more worried about just making it through alive.

“A fine question, young Dia.” The old woman turned and beckoned for Vanille to follow her. “First, we must welcome you into the village. If you have any wounds, then we can see to those. After that, you must share with us the tale of your journey. It is important that all hear of what you have achieved, and your telling of it may remove some of the doubts that the others have.” She cast a quick look over her shoulder at Bahamut. “Though I doubt that any would dare question your claim after seeing him carry you back here.”

“I hope not.” Vanille was all too aware of the rather prominent role that combat played in settling matters of honour. She might have won the favour of the goddess, but she was still a healer, not a warrior. Barring some sort of dragon-based intervention, she had almost no chance of beating a Yun warrior in battle. “So… are we just going to do all of that now? And surely there are other ceremonies that must be performed.”

The old woman nodded. “There are, but you need not worry. For the most part, they are not complicated. For most, only your presence will be required, and for the others, I will be able to advise you.” She chuckled. “And I think it would be best to start as quickly as possible. I fear that some of the more foolish warriors may try Bahamut’s patience and seek to move him.”

“Move him?” Vanille gulped. Bahamut looked the very opposite of something that could be moved. Seemingly aware of her gaze, the dragon opened his eyes and gave her another toothy grin. She shivered. His teeth were bigger than she was. “I don’t think that anyone can move him unless he wants to be moved.”

“Indeed.” The old woman stopped for a moment to catch her breath. “He will stay or go as he pleases.” She smiled and gestured at the village. “Today is your day, chosen of the goddess. Let no one say that we Yun do not honour the Old Laws and the ways of the gods.”

Vanille’s return to the village was an interesting experience. Every member of the village had come out to greet her and as she walked down the main street, flowers were thrown onto the road in front of her. As they reached the centre of the village, the warriors formed into two neat columns. She and the old woman passed between them, and as they passed the warriors lifted their spears in salute. 

At the centre of the village, space had been cleared, and Vanille soon found herself standing in the middle of it with the old woman. The old woman ushered her forward and then spoke.

“Many years ago, the goddess chose me. Now, at last, the goddess has chosen another.” The old woman smiled and let her gaze run wander to the warriors. “I know that there are those of you who doubt her claim. You should not. Look beyond our walls and see the great dragon that lies there. Only the chosen of the goddess could command such loyalty from so mighty a creature.” Her gaze hardened. “That she is Dia does not matter. The goddess sees with eyes keener than we could ever hope to have. Her judgement has never been wrong, and it is not wrong now.” She lowered her voice and whispered to Vanille. “Your name, young Dia?”

Vanille swallowed thickly. “Oerba Dia Vanille.”

The old woman smiled. “A fine name.” And then, more loudly, she addressed the rest of the village. “I give you, the chosen of the goddess, Oerba Dia Vanille.” She lifted her arms. “Praise her, and praise the goddess!”

Cheers rang out then, louder than anything Vanille had ever heard. She felt them right down to the soles of her feet and she had to blink back tears. A second later, the cheers were joined by a roar of approval from Bahamut before the dragon unfurled his wings and took to the sky once more. He banked over the village and then was gone with one last sky-shaking roar.

The old woman motioned for quiet. “Tonight, we celebrate and give thanks.” She turned to Vanille. “And Oerba Dia Vanille shall speak of her journey up the mountain so that all will know what she has done.” She paused. “Now, go, prepare.”

As the villagers hurried off to prepare the celebration, the old woman led Vanille first to her house and then to another beside it.

“As you may have guessed, young Dia, I am the leader of this village.” The old woman motioned at the house beside her own. “From now on, this house shall be yours.”

“Mine?” Vanille tilted her head to one side. “I thank you for your hospitality, honoured elder, but my home is with my clan.”

The old woman grinned. “That is true, but there are duties that come with being the chosen of the goddess, and to accomplish these duties there are things you must learn – things that only we Yun can teach you.” She took in the startled expression on Vanille’s face and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Do not fret, young Dia. The goddess would not have chosen you unless she thought you could succeed. I will speak to you of these duties later, but for at least this day, relax. Savour your triumph.”

Vanille nodded slowly, still a little stunned. She really should have spent more time researching just what the duties of the winner of the Trial would be. However, she had not been able to find out very much. The winners had almost always been members of the Yun clan, and they had kept such things very much to themselves. “I will do my best.”

It was early afternoon when the festivities finally began, but before that Vanille was taken to see the village’s healer. The healer, a young woman, was amazed to find that Vanille had hardly a scratch on her. The healer was even more amazed when Vanille explained that she had been injured, and quite badly, but that the goddess had healer her wounds.

The festivities began with a great feast. It must have been planned well in advance, for there were finely cooked meats and other dishes to suit any palate. The Yun seemed to approach food like they did battle – with great enthusiasm and consummate skill. Vanille supposed it made sense. The Yun were such a passionate people, it was only right that their food reflect that same sense of wildness and freedom. 

Once the main meal had been concluded, Vanille was presented with several gifts. Amongst these, two stood out more than any other. The first was a beautiful blue sari cut in the traditional Yun style. It reminded her so much of the goddess that it seemed almost blasphemous to try it on. The second, and the one that sent a low hush through the crowd, was a ceremonial spear. The old woman presented it to her and it was easily the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen. Every single of inch of it spoke of finely forged deadliness. It was a weapon meant for the very greatest of warriors, and Vanille struggled to hold back tears as she accepted it. How could she, a mere healer, be entrusted with such a thing? But before she could even think of handing it back, the old woman closed her hands over it.

“It is yours now,” the old woman said. “As it was once mine. If you do not think you are worthy of it yet, then work hard so that one day you will be.”

Vanille sniffled. “I will. I promise.”

After the gifts had been given, the time came for Vanille to tell the story of her journey. It took her several moments to steady herself as she stood and looked out over the crowd of villagers. She had passed many nights telling stories to the younger children at the orphanage in Oerba, and it was to those far off nights that she turned to for courage. Her voice, as she began, was soft and halting, but with each word she spoke, she felt her confidence rise. This was something she could do.

The villagers listened with bated breath as she told her tale, and she bit back a smile as she noticed that many of the children had begun to creep closer. When she reached the part where she blinded a dragon, there were shouts of disbelief, but they were quietened quickly – by the very four people she had helped to save from the dragon. A few of the warriors even gave her grudging looks of respect, for they understood all too well the importance of not only being strong, but also being cunning. 

As her tale wore on, more and more of the warriors seemed to regard her favourably. Of course, they would have preferred that a Yun win the Trial, but her tale was filled with the kind of single-minded determination and toughness that they could respect. Perhaps the biggest reaction, however, came when she described her meeting with the goddess.

The children seemed delighted to find out that the goddess was a warm, friendly person, but many of the warriors seemed utterly stunned. They seemed to have formed the view that the goddess was some stern, unforgiving warrior, the kind of person who could slaughter entire clans within the blink of an eye without even a pang of sadness or regret. Vanille had a feeling that Fang really could wipe out entire clans in the blink of an eye, but she had a feeling that the goddess would definitely feel more than just a pang of sadness. In the end, it came down to the old woman to settle things.

“Silence,” the old woman shouted as several warriors tried to question Vanille’s account of the goddess. “Who amongst you have laid eyes upon the goddess? Who amongst you can claim to know her?” Her gaze raked over the crowd. “Only I and Oerba Dia Vanille can claim such.” Her voice softened. “It is true, the goddess is mighty in battle, but a true warrior loves peace as much as war. A warrior who loves only battle will bring about only suffering and injustice, for why else do we seek battle if not to ensure peace?” She chuckled. “I am old, but not so old that I cannot remember the words the goddess spoke to me. To her enemies, she is fierce and terrifying, but to us, her children, she has only warmth and love.” She paused. “And a fine sense of humour.” 

Silently, Vanille agreed with the old woman, although she could understand why so many of the Yun seemed to emphasise the harsher aspects of their goddess. After all, the lands they lived in were harsh and inhospitable. In order to survive and protect the things they cared about, the Yun needed to grow strong and tough. Although, Vanille thought with a grin, perhaps it was time for them to develop a better sense of humour.

After Vanille had finished her tale, the festivities began to wind down and Vanille followed the old woman back to what was apparently her new house. 

“Did you enjoy the festivities, young Dia?” the old woman asked as they entered Vanille’s new house.

“They were very good, honoured elder” Vanille replied. She put one hand on her stomach. “I had no idea that the Yun could cook so well – I think I may have eaten too much.”

The old woman chuckled as she quickly showed Vanille around the house. It was not especially large, but everything in it was well made and it was definitely much better than any place Vanille had stayed in for quite some time. “I am glad that you were able to enjoy yourself.” She made her way over to a chair and gestured for Vanille to sit in another one beside her. “But now, it is time that I told you more of what your duties will be as the chosen of the goddess.”

Vanille took a deep breath and nodded. Whatever these new duties were, she would just have to approach them with the same determination that she had approached the Trial. “I am ready.”

The old woman patted Vanille’s knee. “Please, young Dia, you need not look so nervous. As I have said, the goddess chose you for a reason. Besides, it is in my best interests that you receive as much as assistance as you need, for your duties are tied not only to the goddess, but to the Yun as well.”

“To the Yun?” Vanille shivered. The old woman’s voice was still warm, but there was a hint of steel in it too. 

“The chosen of the goddess is more than just a figurehead. As her chosen you are, literally, the closest amongst all of the clans to her.” The old woman sighed and for a second she truly looked her age. “As I’m sure you know, young Dia, war is coming. The chosen of the goddess has duties in days such as those that lie before us. We Yun have always looked to the goddess for strength in battle.” 

Vanille nodded. “I know. In the Dia clan, we do the same.” She lifted her chin. “Oerba will probably be the first place to be attacked. I intend to ask the goddess to help defend it.”

The old woman grinned. “Good, I expected as much. But you must do more than simply ask for the aid of the goddess. You must also lead us into battle.”

“Lead you?” Vanille blurted. “What… what do you mean?”

The old woman chuckled. “In the Old Days, before the False Paradise was torn from the sky and the High Mother left to slumber, we Yun vowed to follow the goddess. At the time, the gods still walked amongst us, so that was easy enough to do. When the time came for her to withdraw to her mountain, we swore that we would follow her chosen as faithfully as we would follow her.” Her lips curled. “That is the true reason that some of the warriors were quite resentful. To be chosen is not simply to be close to the goddess, it is to be leader of all the Yun. If we Yun are to march to war, then it is you who must lead us. You have not heard of this until now since all who win the Trial are sworn to secrecy on this matter.”

“What?” Vanille felt like she wanted to throw up. A gentle wind came in through the window and she could have sworn that she heard laughter. Not quite sure why she was doing it, she turned to glare in the direction of the goddess’s mountain. “But… but that doesn’t make any sense. I’m not a warrior. I’m a healer. I won the Trial through cunning, not through strength of arms. I… I can’t lead you like that.” She glanced at the ceremonial spear that she had hung up on the wall. “I can’t even use a spear properly.”

The old woman’s eyes softened and she placed one hand on Vanille’s arm. “Strength of arms is something that can be taught.” She moved her hand over Vanille’s chest. “Strength of heart is not, and it was for your heart that the goddess chose you.” She closed her eyes. “Many years ago, it was said that a war would come, one that would finish what was started so many years ago in the crystal corridors of the False Paradise. It was said that when that drew near, the goddess would choose and that her chosen would be brought to us on the wings of Bahamut.” She smirked. “Admittedly, you were in his claws, not on his wings, but I think that is close enough.”

Faced by the absolute certainty in the old woman’s eyes, Vanille could only slump back onto her chair. “I… I just wanted to help my clan.”

“Of course, you did,” the old woman said. “But did you truly believe that the goddess would simply grant you her favour and then let you go on your merry way.” The old woman lifted Vanille’s chin. “Stay strong, young Dia. The goddess asks a great deal, but only of those who have the strength to give it. Whatever she saw in you, we shall work to bring out.”

“Work to bring it out?” Vanille turned hopeful eyes toward the old woman.

“Yes.” The old woman got to her feet. “Not only would it be very cruel to send you into battle untrained, it would also be very foolish. You may already be a healer, but I intend to make you into a warrior. Tomorrow, you shall begin your training. You will be taught some of our ways so that you may grow stronger in body and spirit. Sleep well tonight, for you shall need your rest.” The old woman ambled over to the door and stopped. “And remember, you do this not only for your clan and mine, but for all the clans.” She chuckled. “You should also know that tomorrow, runners will be sent to every corner of the land. All of the clans shall know of your victory, and it will not be long before they wish to meet you.”

Vanille gulped and had to fight off another wave of nausea. “Meet me?” she squeaked.

“Yes, but I should be able to hold them off until you are ready.” The old woman opened the door and stepped out into the night. “Now, sleep.”

However, sleep did not come easily to Vanille that night. Though the bed beneath her was soft, and her blankets were smooth and warm, she couldn’t help but think of all the things that could go horribly wrong. What if she failed? She would bring disgrace not only to herself, but also to her entire clan.

She tugged the blankets tighter around herself and fought the urge to huddle under them. She was a woman now, not some little girl. Whatever her responsibilities were, whatever hardships she had to endure, she would simply have to face them. She had come here to help her clan, and the goddess had been gracious enough to grant her a means of doing so. Admittedly, she would have preferred it if things were a little easier, but if the goddess believed in her, then she’d just have to believe in herself too. Besides, a part of her had always envied the Yun. Watching a Yun warrior was like watching a dragon in full flight – an awe-inspiring mix of grace, speed, and power. Maybe, just maybe, she could be like that too.

X X X

The next morning arrived and Vanille was awakened by a loud rapping on her front door. She opened it to find the old woman there along with someone else that she had never met before. The other person was a young woman, very similar to her in age, but altogether different in appearance from any Yun that Vanille had ever seen. She had pale skin and silver hair, but what truly caught Vanille’s attention were her eyes, or rather her eye. An eye patch covered her left eye, but her right eye was the colour of freshly spilt blood. Vanille felt a chill crawl up her spine. Such eyes were said to be omens of ill fortune.

“Good morning, young Dia.” The old woman grinned as Vanille fought to hold back a yawn. “I trust you slept well.”

Vanille inclined her head and covered her mouth as another yawn threatened to escape her. “Good morning, honoured elder.” She paused. “I slept… well.” In truth, she had spent much of the night fretting over all of the ways that she could fail in her duties as the chosen of the goddess.

The old woman gave her a sly look, clearly not the least bit fooled. “As I expected.” She gestured at the young woman beside her. “As I promised, your training shall begin today. This is Fujin. She is one of our finest warriors, and she will be responsible for your training.”

“Fujin?” Vanille asked.

“YES.”

Vanille nearly jumped. Fujin had spoken in something close to a shout. 

Beside Fujin, the old woman chuckled. “Do not be alarmed, young Dia. That was simply Fujin’s way of speaking.” 

Vanille frowned faintly. She had a very good memory and she liked to think that she never forgot a face. “I don’t remember seeing Fujin during the Trial, and she wasn’t at the celebration yesterday…”

The old woman’s smile slipped a fraction. “Fujin chose not to compete in the Trial, and she had other duties to attend to yesterday. You may rest assured that she is more than qualified to train you. Indeed, she is one of the finest warriors that our village has ever produced.”

Vanille did her best not to look sceptical. She might not be a warrior, but she had dealt with more than her fair share of eye injuries. Although there were warriors that continued to be quite skilled even after the loss of an eye, she’d never met one that hadn’t been better with both eyes. It was easy enough to explain. After all, a lost eye meant a decreased field of vision and problems perceiving depth, to say nothing of the illnesses and infection that often accompanied any injury serious enough to result in the loss of an eye.

“YOU DOUBT.” Fujin took one step forward and Vanille almost tripped over her own feet in her haste to step back. “GODDESS GAVE TWO EYES.” Fujin glared with that solitary eye. “STILL HAVE SPARE.”

The old woman laughed. “Indeed, no Yun warrior would ever allow themselves to be defeated by the loss of a mere eye.” She looked at Vanille and smiled toothily. “It will be Fujin’s duty to teach you some of our ways. If you are to lead us, young Dia, then you will need to listen closely to what she says and train as hard as possible.”

Vanille nodded quickly. If there was one thing all of her fretting had done, it was to firm her resolve. She could not afford to fail the goddess or her clan. She would simply have to do her very best and hope that was be good enough. Besides, she had reached the mountain of the goddess. Surely there couldn’t any form of training worse than what she’d already endured.

She bowed to Fujin. “I am honoured to receive your training, and I shall do my very best to honour the ways of the Yun.” She paused and glanced up at the other woman. “So… what do we do first?”

Fujin’s smile made Vanille want to crawl under her blankets and hide. “RUN.”

Twenty minutes later, Vanille was thoroughly convinced that there was something worse than her journey up the mountain. After replying, Fujin had practically bullied her into a change of clothes and then insisted that they run. It had been easy enough to begin with – like any young woman of the clans, Vanille was fit – but then Fujin had picked up the pace and led them out of the village and up the snowy slopes into the mountains.

In almost no time at all, Vanille found herself barely able to breathe, and quite certain that she was only moments from emptying her stomach onto the snow. Only the thought of how utterly pathetic she would look stopped her as she staggered up the rugged mountain path that Fujin had chosen to follow.

The minutes dragged on and Vanille’s whole world narrowed down to the path ahead of her and the burning in her lungs and legs. Fujin hadn’t said a word since they’d started, and the few times that she’d turned to look at Vanille, her expression had been one of open contempt. Finally, they reached the bottom of a broad, open section of the mountainside and Fujin stopped.

The silver haired woman rounded on her with a glare and jabbed at Vanille’s side with one finger. “WEAK.” She poked Vanille in the back. “SOFT.” She shook her head and her lips curled in disgust. “WORTHLESS.” Her eyes flicked up to a tree at the top of the slope. “NEVER.” And with that she darted up the slope. She reached the tree a few moments later and sat down beneath it, a smirk on her face. “FOLLOW.”

Vanille dragged in several deep breaths and reached up to scrub away the few stubborn tears that had formed at the corners of her eyes. She knew that she wasn’t as strong as the Yun, and she knew that compared to them, she really was soft and weak but… she shook her head. She had to stop making excuses. Excuses were for people who could afford to fail, and she no longer had that luxury. If the Yun were stronger it was because they trained harder and longer. She would just have to train harder and longer too. Biting back a wave of nausea, she gathered herself and began to trudge up the slope toward Fujin. She managed to make it halfway up before she collapsed onto her side.

A big, big part of her wanted to just stay there. It hurt to breathe and her whole body, not just her legs, felt like one big bruise. She wanted to go home. But even as those thoughts filled her head, the part of her that had driven her up to the mountain of the goddess, the same part that had pushed her to make something of herself as a healer, that same part forced her onto her hands and knees. The goddess had seen something in her, and she refused to believe that the goddess had been wrong. If she couldn’t run then she would walk, and if she couldn’t walk then by the goddess she would crawl.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally reached the tree. Fujin watched her drag herself up to the base of the tree with a look of open contempt. Vanille felt her arms give out and she crashed face first into the snow. Weakly, she tried to push herself back up, but her arms refused to cooperate. She heard a disgusted sound and then Fujin rolled her onto her back with one booted foot.

Vanille gaped for air like a fish out of water and stared up at Fujin. The silver haired woman’s crimson eye narrowed.

“STILL WEAK.” Fujin tossed a canteen of water into the snow beside her. “MAYBE CAN CHANGE.” She kicked some snow at Vanille. “DRINK.”

Vanille managed to get up onto her knees again. However, as she reached for the flask, her stomach rebelled and she emptied it onto the snow. Thankfully, none of the mess got onto the flask or Fujin’s boots. Rocking herself back and forth for a moment, Vanille put unsteady hands on the flask and used the water to first rinse out her mouth and then quench her thirst before she dragged herself away from the mess. The smell of it was terrible, and if she stayed there any longer, she just might vomit again.

Fujin followed her, seemingly unfazed by what had just happened. “DRINK SLOW.”

“I know,” Vanille muttered “I am a healer.” She swallowed thickly and glanced back the way they’d come. Despite the pain she was in, it was hard not to appreciate the view. They’d come several miles and she could see the village spread out below them. Little columns of smoke rose up from the houses, and she could just make out a hunting party returning with fresh game. But the thought of getting back made her stomach do somersaults. From what little she knew of Fujin, the other woman would probably insist that they run back, and Vanille wasn’t at all sure that she’d make it back.

Several minutes passed and then Fujin reached down to take the flask of water from Vanille. “ENOUGH REST. RUN BACK.”

Vanille stumbled to her feet. Maybe she could roll back to the village? After all, it was almost all downhill.

Fujin, however, seemed to read her mind. “RUN BACK. NO CHEATING. IF CHEAT, CARRY ME ON BACK.”

Vanille shuddered. Fujin didn’t look heavy, but there was no way that Vanille would be able to carry her back to the village. “All right, no cheating.” She took a deep breath and shambled after Fujin as the other woman began the run back to the village.

It took them almost an hour to make it back to the outskirts of the village and by then, Vanille had once again been reduced to crawling. Still, Fujin wasn’t completely heartless, for as they drew close to the walls of the village, she gave Vanille a few moments to gather herself so that she could at least hobble back into the village on her feet. Of course, Vanille thought, it could also have been the case that Fujin didn’t want to depress the rest of the village by showing them how utterly pathetic their future leader was.

Vanille liked to think of herself as a fairly forgiving and generous person, but she was hard-pressed not to scream when Fujin informed her that their training for the day was not, in fact, finished. The silver haired woman gave her about an hour to rest and eat a small meal before she dragged her to a training ground outside the village.

Once they got there, Fujin tossed Vanille a wooden staff. 

“SPEAR LATER. STAFF FIRST.” Fujin lifted a wooden staff of her own. “ATTACK.”

Vanille blinked. Had Fujin really just asked her to attack? It wasn’t that Vanille thought she was any danger to Fujin – her odds of actually harming the silver haired woman were probably close to nil – but right now, it was all she could do to stay on her feet. “I’m still a little tired from before. Could we wait a little longer?”

Fujin looked at her like she’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “ENEMY NOT CARE IF TIRED.” She narrowed her eye and pointed her staff at Vanille. “NOT ATTACK THEN I ATTACK.”

That was all Vanille need to hear. The absolute last thing she wanted was to have to defend herself from someone like Fujin. With a loud cry, she lunged forward and brought her staff around at Fujin’s head. The other woman didn’t even block. Instead, she simply ducked, and Vanille nearly tripped as her own momentum threatened to sweep her off her feet. Recovering as quickly as her tired legs could manage, she swung again, lower this time, and Fujin evaded with a single step back. A thrust was avoided with equal ease, and as Vanille brought her staff around for another strike at Fujin’s head, she felt cold wood come to rest against her throat. The tip of Fujin’s staff was pressed flush against the side of her neck. Vanille swallowed thickly. Had Fujin delivered the strike properly, she’d have broken her neck.

Fujin’s eye gleamed. “ONE.”

One? Vanille took a slow step back. This was foolish. Attacking Fujin head on wouldn’t work. The other woman was stronger than her, faster than her, and undoubtedly better trained than her. If she wanted to land a hit, then she needed a plan, something that would let her take advantage of Fujin’s only obvious weakness. Slowly, she began to circle around into Fujin’s blind spot. The moment, Vanille felt she was there she lunged forward again.

But somehow, Fujin saw the strike coming and ducked below it. With an agility that Vanille could scarcely believe, she twisted around Vanille’s follow up strike and rapped her staff against Vanille’s side. It was a jarring blow, more than enough to drive the breath out of her, but Vanille knew all too well that had Fujin wanted to, she could have broken her ribs.

Fujin smirked. “TWO.”

Two? Wait, Vanille thought, was Fujin counting how many times Vanille would have died if they’d been fighting for real? She winced. It was one thing to be told you were bad at fighting, quite another to have it demonstrated so obviously. However, it was her own fault. She should have known that Fujin would react to an attack from her blind spot correctly. In all likelihood, people had probably been trying something like that for years, so of course Fujin would have learned to compensate.

Fujin’s eye narrowed and she took one step forward. “WASTING TIME.” Her lips curled. “DEFEND.”

Her staff rose and fell in a simple downward strike and Vanille lifted her own staff to ward off the attack. However, the sheer force of it drove her to her knees. Goddess, Fujin was strong. Even if she hadn’t been exhausted, Vanille was still quite sure that the blow would have forced her onto her knees anyway. Fujin swung again, and this time, Vanille was driven face first into the snow. Moved by instinct, she rolled out of the way of a third strike that slammed into the snow where her head had been only a moment ago.

Fujin smiled thinly. “GOOD. LISTEN INSTINCTS.” Her staff darted out toward the side of Vanille’s leg and Vanille tripped and landed on her back. She poked the red head in the stomach. “THREE.”

Over the next fifteen minutes, Vanille ‘died’ thirty times. She couldn’t be certain, but it had to be some kind of horrible record. Even a Yun child would probably have done better than her. Then again, a Yun child probably had more actual combat training than her. Amongst the Dia, healers were taught basic self-defence, but for the most part, they were taught to retreat to safety with their patients. It was a wise strategy, but not one that Vanille could employ against Fujin.

Fujin poked her in the side with her staff. “UP. WATCH.”

Vanille staggered to her feet and then watched as Fujin moved through what she assumed were the basic Yun ways of attacking and blocking with a staff. Vanille’s brows furrowed. The staff was a common weapon amongst the Dia, and she had seen masters of it in action. They had always impressed her with their grace and elegance. What Fujin was showing her, however, was the complete opposite of the extravagance that Vanille had so often admired. There was no wasted motion in her strikes or blocks, no hint of unnecessary movement. Everything, from the stance she took, to the way she held the staff seemed to be designed for battle where only winning mattered, not style.

Once she had finished demonstrating, Fujin rounded on Vanille, and the red head found herself doing her best to mimic what she’d seen under Fujin’s watchful eye. She managed to get a few of the moves right, but from the look on Fujin’s face, she’d mostly gotten them wrong. The other woman glared, but demonstrated the moves again, this time more slowly, and as Vanille ran through them a second time, she was quick to correct any mistake, even going so far as to simply grab Vanille and move her through the techniques she was getting wrong. Now and then Vanille thought that she could see a faint smile of approval on Fujin’s lips, but whenever she looked too closely, the other woman was swift to school her features into a scowl before she rapped Vanille in the side with her staff for getting distracted.

By the time that Fujin called an end to the training session, Vanille could barely move her arms and legs. In fact, she thought, as she toppled face first toward the ground, she really couldn’t move much of anything.

When she woke up, it was to find that she’d been slung over someone’s back. It was Fujin, she realised, as she took note of the silver hair in her face. The other woman was carrying her back to the village on her back and from the swift, steady pace that she maintained it was almost like Vanille didn’t weigh anything at all.

“Thank you,” Vanille whispered.

Fujin made a disgusted sound. “WEAK.” Vanille bit her lip. “BUT MY FAULT TOO.” Fujin sighed “STUDENT’S FAILURE. TEACHER’S FAILURE.”

Oh. Without thinking, Vanille tightened her hold on Fujin. She hadn’t really thought of that. What if she really did fail in her duties as the chosen of the goddess? As her trainer, then Fujin would undoubtedly be held responsible. “No, it’s okay. I know I’m not good at these kinds of things. The only way I’ll ever get better is if someone makes me better.” She grinned. “If I can survive what you put me through, then everything else should be easy.”

Fujin turned her head to give Vanille the first real smile that she’d seen from the silver haired woman. “DIA STUPID.” She chuckled. “STUPID BUT BRAVE.”

Vanille grinned, and she was still grinning when they entered the village. The old Yun woman took one look at them and then burst into laughter. 

“I see you’ve become acquainted with Fujin’s training methods,” the old woman said as Fujin carried Vanille to her bed and rather unceremoniously threw her onto it. The crimson-eyed woman took one last look at Vanille, her lips caught between a smile and a frown, and then stalked out of the house.

Vanille stared after Fujin for a moment before her gaze turned to the old woman. “Yes, honoured elder, I have.”

The old woman’s lips twitched. “Good. There is food and drink for you on the table in the other room. Once you are able to stand, you should eat.”

It took Vanille a good fifteen or so minutes to finally drag herself to her feet. The food and drink on the table looked almost too good to be true, and it was only the knowledge that eating too swiftly would make her empty her stomach again that kept her from stuffing as much of it into her mouth as she could. Manners were one thing, but after what she had experienced so far, food and drink were far more important. The old woman watched her with a small smile.

“I am glad to see that you still have your spirit, young Dia,” the old woman said. “I was worried when Fujin had to carry you back.”

Vanille smiled as reassuringly as she could with a slice of bread stuffed in her mouth. “Thank you, honoured elder.” She swallowed. “But surely there are other things I have to learn besides fighting. What of the customs of the Yun, of your culture?”

The old woman took a seat at the table, sighing a little as she did so. Vanille almost reached out to help her, but the old woman gave her a defiant look. She smiled. The other woman was old, but an old Yun warrior was still a warrior. 

“You are right to ask of our customs and culture. Some of that I shall teach you, but much of it can only be learned by experiencing it.” She poured herself a glass of water. “When you have the time, walk amongst the rest of the villagers. See the world through their eyes.” She coughed and took a sip of the water. “But if you have questions, then perhaps you can ask some of them now. It is easy enough to train the mind while the body rests.”

Vanille nodded slowly. It sounded like a very good way to divide her time, and asking about some of the things that puzzled her seemed like an excellent way to take her mind from the pain in her body. “Thank you. I hope I do not offend you with any of my questions.”

The old woman waved one hand. “Better that you offend and know than remain polite but ignorant. You will lead us one day, it is vital that you understand us.”

“All right.” Vanille pursed her lips. She had so many questions that just choosing which one to start with was difficult indeed. In the end she decided to begin with something that had puzzled her ever since she had learned of the lands that the Yun occupied. “The Yun are mighty warriors, yet you seem content to stay within the mountains and the rugged hills. Why not take better lands? Surely you could if you wanted.”

“You ask good questions, young Dia, and pointed ones too.” The old woman grinned. “You are right though, if we wished to take other lands, there are few who could stop us. Even ignoring the clans such as your own that dislike war, there are no clans that can match our strength in battle. But simply being able to take something does not mean that we should take it. Tell me, have you ever wanted something very much that belonged to someone else?”

Vanille frowned and then nodded. “I was raised in an orphanage, so I had very little I could call my own. I remember seeing a lovely charm once, one made in honour to the goddess, that one of the other children at the orphanage owned. It was so beautiful… I wanted it very much.”

The old woman’s lips curled. “But you did not take it, did you, young Dia, even though you wanted it very much.”

“Of course not,” Vanille replied. “It wasn’t mine to take. It would have been…” Her eyes widened. “It cannot be that simple,” she said. “Surely there is more to it than that.”

The old woman shook her head. “No, young Dia, it is that simple. These are the lands given to us by the goddess. They are harsh, true, but they are beautiful, and their harshness is also the source of our strength. The lands of the Dia, and the lands of the other clans, they too were given to them by the gods. To take those lands from them would be to go against the gods, to break the Old Laws that have served us so well for countless generations.” She chuckled. “To a clever Dia it may seem strange, but to a Yun it is that simple.”

Vanille gave the old woman a sceptical look. It was hard to believe that the explanation was so simple, but perhaps it truly was. Certainly, she was no expert in the minds of the Yun. “There is something else that has been bothering me, honoured elder. Why are there no other Yun your age in the village? In fact, I cannot recall ever seeing a Yun your age.” She flushed. “Not that I think you are old…”

The old woman chuckled. “Do not worry, young Dia. I am well aware of how old I am. By any mortal standard, I am ancient so do not fear that you have offended me. Indeed, if you do not think that I am old, then you must either be blind or stupid, and you are neither.” Her smile faded and her face took on a grave and sombre look. “I am a warrior, young Dia, and I have been one for as long as I can remember. Even as a young girl, the spear felt good in my hand, and I was barely half your age when I made my first kill. For a Yun, there is no better death than in battle. To die in service to the clan, in honour of the goddess… that is the hope of all Yun.” She shook her head slowly. “But sometimes that does not happen. I was too skilled in my youth to meet my end that way, and as I grew older, it fell to me to plan and strategise as those younger took my place on the front lines. Now, I am old, and there is not one person in this village that would let me take my spear into battle again, never mind the dishonour they do me with such coddling.”

Vanille looked down at the table and folded her hands together. Was this what it meant to be Yun? To seek death on the battlefield, and then think only of dishonour when it was not found. “But surely the people of this village love you. You have watched over every one of them for so many years. Perhaps it is love that makes them wish to protect you, love that seeks to keep you from the battlefield.”

The old woman smiled. “It is, though no Yun warrior would ever admit such a thing. It warms my heart that they care for me enough to try and keep me from battle, but I will tell you now, young Dia, they will fail.” She walked to the wall and tugged the ceremonial spear free. In her hands it was no longer mere metal, it was a living thing, alive and whole, and as Vanille watched in awe, she moved it with all the grace and skill of a warrior decades younger. Even the small confines of the house did not hinder her as she pierced and sliced the air with its tip. “See, young Dia, there is life in these old bones yet. I will not die old and useless in my bed. When I feel that my work is done and that my time here is drawing close, I will walk once more to the mountain of the goddess.”

Vanille nodded slowly. To think that on old woman could endure the gruelling journey to the mountain of the goddess seemed impossible, yet there was such fierce and undeniable vitality in the old woman’s eyes that she could not find it in her to disagree. “And then?”

The old woman put the spear back onto the wall and returned to her seat at the table. Her eyes blazed with something that Vanille could not name. “Then I will ask the goddess to give me a warrior’s death – I will ask her to face me.”

“You want to fight the goddess? To fight Fang?” Vanille blurted. “But… but you’ll lose.”

“Of course I will,” the old woman said. “But I can think of no finer spear to fall before than hers.” She smirked. “Besides, she promised me long ago that she would face me in battle. I am no longer in prime, but only a fool would turn down the chance to face a god in battle.” She laughed. “How many in all the world can say they have fought a god?” 

Vanille reached across the table. Unbidden tears welled up at the corner of her eyes. Looking at the old woman she saw, perhaps for the first time, what made the Yun so remarkable. It was not their speed, or their strength, or their grace in battle. It was their spirit, fierce and proud, wild and free. It was the spirit of the goddess, and she had never seen it burn so brightly in anyone as it did in the old woman. “When that day comes, would you like me to go with you?”

The old woman laughed again and shook her head. “No, young Dia. Death is the last road that a warrior must walk, and it is one that a warrior must walk alone. Your duty is to those who have many years ahead of them. It is enough that you offered, though I must decline.” She reached across and dabbed at the tears on Vanille’s face. “Young Dia, you weep needlessly. A warrior’s death is something to be honoured, not mourned.” She chuckled and ruffled Vanille’s hair. “Besides, young Dia, it will be a while yet before that day comes. Someone must teach you our ways, and Fujin can only do so much.”

Vanille scrubbed at her cheeks. No longer in a mood to ask questions, she looked for something else to say and found it when she realised just how badly she smelled. “Honoured elder, is there somewhere that I can bathe?”

The old woman stared at her for moment and then grinned. “You dislike talk of death, young Dia, though I should not be surprised by that since you are a healer.” She stood and walked to the door, waving for Vanille to follow her. “There are baths that all may share inside the village, but if you walk a little further then you shall find some hot springs beyond the southern edge of the village.”

“There are hot springs outside the village?” Vanille would have given a great deal to know about them earlier. Already the thought of the hot water and the soothing effect it would have on her aching muscles made her want to break into a run. “Why not pipe the water into the village?”

The old woman smiled. “We do have some of the hot water brought to the village, but there is something special about the hot springs. They say that the goddess once bathed there and as a result the pools have special, restorative properties.” She looked around as Vanille went back into her house to get a change of clothes. “Fujin can take you there. Fujin!”

“HERE.”

Vanille gave a little cry and nearly tripped over her own feet as Fujin appeared right beside her. How the other woman had managed that, she had no idea, and she shot Fujin a cross look as she steadied herself. “Where did you come from?”

Fujin simply ignored the question and turned to the old woman. “NEED?”

“I would like you to take Vanille to the hot springs. It seems like a suitable reward for surviving your training.” The old woman smirked. “She also smells.”

Fujin nodded and then looked at Vanille. “FOLLOW.” She turned and took several steps before she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “QUICKLY.”

After a full day of gruelling training, Vanille needed no further words of encouragement. As Fujin fell into a steady hunter’s lope, she staggered after her, all too aware of the stares she received from the villagers that they passed. But to her surprise, not all of the stares were at her, and no small number of them were actually quite hostile. How had she missed this earlier? Perhaps she’d simply been too distracted by the pain she was in to notice, but quite a lot of the villagers seemed to look at Fujin with something close to contempt.

However, if Fujin noticed, she paid the other villagers no mind at all as she led Vanille out of the village and along a short trail to the hot springs. The hot springs were nestled amongst a grove of tree and the air was warm and humid. Still a little shy at the prospect of bathing with others – the Dia tended to be more private about such things – she was relieved to see that the only ones there were her and Fujin… and what looked to be several monkeys.

“Is it all right for them to be here?” Vanille asked as she studied one of the monkeys more closely. It was a small animal, perhaps a foot tall and with white fur all over. It met her gaze without fear and seemed content to simply relax in the waters of one of the pools.

Fujin looked at the moneys. “FINE. SHARE. HARMLESS.” She reached for a dagger at her waist. “BATHE. I WATCH.”

Vanille’s cheeks flushed for a moment until she realised what exactly it was that Fujin meant. Of course, Fujin wasn’t going to be watching her bathe – the silver haired woman would be standing guard. It would, after all, be fairly embarrassing for everyone involved if the chosen of the goddess was killed by a wolf or a bear in the middle of bathing. “Oh, okay.”

She undressed quickly and after washing herself in one of the smaller, cooler pools, she slipped into one of the larger, hotter pools. A sigh left her lips and it took everything she had to keep from sinking fully into the water. By the goddess, it felt good. 

“Are you sure you aren’t going to come in?” she asked.

Fujin, who was on a nearby rock, shook her head. “NO.”

Vanille shrugged and sank into the water until only her face was above the surface. Somehow, this almost made all of the suffering that she’d been through worth it. She could already feel the aches and pains just melting away. Perhaps the old woman was right. Maybe the hot springs really did have special properties. Across the pool from her, one of the monkeys gave her a cheeky grin. Clearly, it wasn’t the first time that they’d seen someone all but collapse into the hot springs. She grinned back at the monkey.

“Fujin,” she murmured after a while. “Back in the village… why were they looking at you so strangely?” It was a blunt question, and if anyone asked her, she would blame it on the heat of the hot springs. In truth though, she was curious. She would have expected the person assigned to train her to be one of the more popular people in the village.

“PRIVATE.” Fujin glared at Vanille. “WORRY ABOUT SELF.”

Across the pool, the little money snickered and Vanille frowned. It was one thing to be laughed at by people, but having a monkey laugh at her was somehow much worse. “Fine.”

Still, with little to do but just sit there in the water, she found her eyes wandering back to Fujin. Apart from her dagger, Fujin also carried a very odd looking weapon, one that Vanille had never seen before. It was a circle of gleaming metal, but with several curved blades poking out at regular intervals. 

“QUESTION?” Fujin barked.

Vanille jumped as she realised she’d been caught staring. The monkey snickered again. “Uh… that weapon you have, the round one. What is it?”

Fujin lifted the weapon up. “CHAKRAM.” 

Fujin flicked her wrist and faster than Vanille imagined possible, the weapon sailed through the air and imbedded itself in the trunk of a tree on the opposite side of the clearing. She gulped. The chakram had dug almost a foot into the trunk of the tree. With the same ease that she seemed to do everything, Fujin ambled over to the weapon and tugged it free. 

“UNDERSTAND?”

Vanille gulped and even the monkey looked a little worried. “Yes.”

After spending enough time in the hot springs to begin resembling a prune, Vanille followed Fujin back into the village. Thankfully, Fujin was kind enough to let them walk back this time. It was already late afternoon when they got back, but the village was still bustling with activity.

People hurried about preparing their evening meal while others hurried to and fro in a bid to get their errands done before night fell. The villagers nodded as she passed, but few of them made any bid to acknowledge Fujin, save for the occasional glare or scowl. She glanced at the other woman out of the corner of her eye, but Fujin’s single eye had hardened to prevent any expression of emotion.

When they reached Vanille’s house, Fujin walked her to the door.

“REST.” Fujin’s lips curled. “TRAINING TOMORROW.”

Vanille had to stifle a groan. “Of course.”

Fujin turned on her heel. “REST.”

Vanille nodded and went inside her house. She didn’t feel that tired, but a short nap was probably a good idea. However, her short nap turned out being a great deal longer than she anticipated, and when she woke up, it was to find that it was already morning. A loud banging on the door let her know just what time of the morning it was.

She opened the door and Fujin was there, lips drawn into something that was almost a smile.

“TRAINING.”

X X X

The first week of training followed a brutally simple schedule. Vanille would wake in the morning, go running with Fujin until she inevitably emptied her stomach, and then run back to the village. Then she would rest for about an hour before Fujin dragged her off to train with the staff. From the second day onward, Fujin also mixed in some unarmed training, and Vanille wasn’t sure whether she should be pleased or horrified that she was learning so many different ways to choke and otherwise mangle people. She hadn’t even known that there was more than one way to dislocate a person’s elbow, or that there were so many ways to break a person’s arm.

After training with staffs and in unarmed combat, Vanille crawled back to her house for some food and some lessons with the old woman. Sometimes, the old woman let her ask questions, and other times, the old woman simply spoke of the ways of the Yun. In any case, Vanille found her time with the old woman to be absolutely fascinating. There was so much she hadn’t known about the Yun, and her eager questions only seemed to please the old woman. After her lessons with the old woman, she went with Fujin to the hot springs before returning to her house to take a nap. Inevitably though, her naps ended up lasting till morning, and it was only on the first day of the second week of training that she managed to keep her nap relatively short. Perhaps it was a sign that she’d improved. Certainly, she no longer felt quite so wretched after training, although it still took everything she had just to make it from one training session to the next.

When she woke from her nap, she was still sore all over, but a quick look outside the window told her that it was only early evening. She’d managed to keep her nap relatively short for once. Gingerly, she got dressed again and took a look around outside. The village was still quite busy, and she made her mind up then and there to take a walk around. The old woman had said that one of the best ways to learn about the Yun was to spend time walking amongst them. This seemed like the ideal time to do that.

She had hardly taken a few steps when a small gaggle of children congregated around her. They had seen her dragging herself around the village between training sessions, and they were eager to learn about what she had been doing. She answered those questions as best she could, only to find herself confronted with dozens more about her journey during the Trial. A few adults arrived to shoo the children away, but she assured them that she didn’t mind. As one of the older children at the orphanage, she’d spent much of her time telling stories to the younger children. It was nice to see that Yun children were not all that different from their Dia counterparts.

When she had finally managed to deal with the children, she headed down the main street of the village. It was a little foolish, but she hadn’t really planned where she would go or whom she would speak to. However, her eyes were soon drawn to the blacksmith’s building. It was a tall stone building with several chimneys, and as she reached the door, a wave of heat swept over her. Soot stained the walls and floor, and the air was so thick that it was hard to breathe. A little tentatively, she took a look around and then decided to go inside.

The walls were lined with weapons and tools and she coughed as smoke billowed past her. From somewhere further in came the telltale sound of metal on metal along with the occasional curse. She squared her shoulders and decided that she would see if blacksmith was willing to talk.

It didn’t take her long to find him. He was a powerfully built man, all broad shoulders and thick, corded muscle. The hammer he wielded looked like it must have weighed as much as she did, but he handled it with almost no effort at all as he struck the long length of metal on the anvil in front of him again and again. Sparks flew from each strike, and she had to squint just to see the general shape of the metal.

“You’re the Dia,” the blacksmith growled, though his eyes never left his work. To her relief, he sounded more gruffly amused than angry. “What are you doing here?”

She did her best to sound firm. “I will be staying in the village for a while, so I thought it would be wise to learn more about the ways of the Yun.” She nodded at the metal in front of him. “Yun weapons are famous throughout the world for theirs quality, but I have never had the chance to see one made.” 

The blacksmith laughed. “And so you just walked in? You are bold, aren’t you? Though I doubt our goddess would ever favour a coward.” He shifted his gaze to the girl working the bellows. “Fetch her a chair.”

The girl hurried over to get a chair and then scurried back to help with the bellows as the blacksmith limped around to the other side of the anvil to give Vanille a better view of his work. She watched him closely and he gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Yes, Dia, I am lame. Though our women are famous as warriors, we men are skilled in our own right.” He chuckled dryly. “In my youth, I was quite skilled, but alas, I was wounded in a battle with the vipers of Cocoon. I survived, but my leg never healed properly. I decided then that if I could no longer aid our people on the battlefield, I would do so in the forge.”

“Oh.” Vanille couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have an injury that never healed properly. Of course, she had seen such things many times in her work as a healer, but she herself had never been seriously wounded. She loved being able to go wherever her feet took her, something that often put her at odds with the rest of the Dia who preferred the safety of their cities and the plains to the rugged mountains and dark, deep forests. “So, what are you making?”

“A sword.” The blacksmith grinned. “You say that you wish to learn our ways, Dia. Tell me then, do you know how a sword is forged?”

From the grin on his lips, she had a feeling that the answer would be less obvious than it seemed. However, her time as a healer had taught her that it was better to ask a question and learn the answer, even if it meant looking like a fool, than it was to ignore the question. “I cannot say that I know much about how swords are made, but it seems clear that you would need metal for the sword and fire to temper the blade.”

The blacksmith laughed good-naturedly. “A reasonable answer, Dia, but not exactly right.” He glanced down at the girl working the bellows. “Listen closely, my apprentice, for this answer is for you as well.” His expression grew serious. “We Yun are sometimes called the swords of the goddess, and there is some truth to that. A sword is made of steel and steel is more than just iron. In the same way, we Yun must be more than simply brave or strong. We must be cunning, we must be wise, and yes, we must also be merciful when the time is right.” His gaze drifted to the forge. “To make a sword, one also needs fire. Outside of the forge, fire can only destroy, but here, it gives strength, it gives shape, it gives purpose. Without fire, a sword cannot be made. In the same way, we Yun are forged in the fire of adversity. It is only through suffering and struggle that we Yun can become strong. Fire gives courage, young Dia. Fire gives passion.” 

The blacksmith looked to the sword in front of him. The edge glowed red-hot in the smoky light of the forge. “But a sword needs ice as well.” He lifted the sword and plunged it into a tank of icy water. Steam rose and Vanille had to shield her face. “A sword made without ice will be weak and easily broken. We Yun must be the same way. If we let our passions rule us, if we forget that a warrior must be wise and cunning and merciful, then we too shall become weak.” He lifted the sword from the water and inspected the edge for a moment. Satisfied, he handed it to Vanille and pointed to a wooden post. “Here, Dia. Try it.”

Vanille took the sword gingerly. It was lighter than it looked, but it had a firm, solid weight to it as well. A little awkwardly, she tightened both hands around the grip of the sword and swung it at the wooden post. To her utter surprise, the blade cut right through the post. “Amazing,” she murmured. “I barely even felt it cut.” 

The blacksmith chuckled and took the blade from her. “A well made sword is like that.” He struck out at the post several times in quick succession and then laid the sword down on a nearby counter. “If you wish to understand the Yun, Dia, then remember: steel, fire, and ice. You need those three things to make a sword, and they are the same three things that make the Yun great.”

Vanille nodded and then grinned. “Is that why you revere dragons so much then?”

The blacksmith’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment and then he let loose an amused chuckle. “You are clever, Dia, very clever. The dragons are more than just the children of the goddess. They are what every Yun aspires to be – stronger than steel and masters of both the fire that rages within them and the ice that rules the mountains.” He smiled. “Perhaps it will not be much longer before I am asked to make a weapon for you. That staff of yours is a poor weapon indeed, and the spear you were given seems a little long for you.”

Vanille made a face. “It is a little long. But the staff isn’t that bad – Fujin certainly made it seem like a weapon.” A shadow fell over the blacksmith’s face. “Wait… have I said something to offend you?”

The blacksmith looked around for a moment and then lowered his voice. “Be mindful of your words, Dia. Though I hold her no ill will, there are many here who dislike Fujin.”

“Why?” Vanille asked. Admittedly the red-eyed woman had a somewhat prickly personality, but surely that couldn’t be the cause of all the harsh looks she received. Indeed, prickly personalities were far from uncommon amongst the Yun as far as Vanille was concerned. “Did she… do something wrong?” 

The blacksmith sent a warning look to the girl working the bellows. “It is not a matter of what she has done, but rather a matter of what she is.” He sighed. “But it is not my place to say.” He glanced at the door. “We will be finishing our work for the day, but you are welcome to visit again if the mood strikes you.”

Vanille could understand a dismissal when she heard one and she knew better than to press the issue. “I will. Also, why do you call me ‘Dia’? I have a name, you know.”

“Oerba Dia Vanille?” The blacksmith’s smile returned. “I call you Dia as a sign of respect. You are the chosen of the goddess. To call you by your name is a privilege that perhaps only the leader of our village can claim.” 

“It still seems strange to me.” Vanille was never one to stand on ceremony. “Would it be all right if I asked you to call me by my name?”

The blacksmith chuckled. “Then Vanille it is.”

Vanille smiled and inclined her head. “Thank you for letting me watch.”

Outside the blacksmith’s, Vanille dragged in several deep breaths. Watching a sword being made had been fascinating, but the thick, sooty air could not possibly be good for her. Still, it had been wonderfully warm inside.

Her stomach gave an angry rumble and she found herself drawn across the village by the smell of freshly baked bread. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t really given much thought to what the Yun ate. Of course, she’d eaten her fair share of meals, and there had been the feast, but she really didn’t know what they ate on a day-to-day basis. For all she knew, the food that she’d received so far was different from what most people ate. Hopefully they would have some sweet bread at the bakery – she had always had something of a sweet tooth and it had been some time since she’d been able to indulge it.

The bakery was much busier than Vanille had expected, although perhaps that was a product of the way that the Yun lived. The Yun worked hard during the day, hunting and gathering what they needed to survive. Only during the nights was everyone actually in the village, so it was only then that families could eat together – a custom shared by almost all of the clans. She waited until the lines had thinned before she made her way into the bakery, mindful of the many surprised looks she received.

The baker was an old woman, though not nearly as old as the village’s leader. She stared at Vanille for a moment and then recovered enough to give her a curt nod. 

“Your rumbling stomach says that you are hungry, Dia.” The baker chuckled. “What would you like?”

Vanille eyed the baked goods in front of her keenly. Most of them were unfamiliar, but there was a lovely looking spiced bread that she would definitely like to try. She reached into her pockets for money and then winced. “I don’t have any money.” She’d probably lost it up in the mountains, and until now, she hadn’t really needed any.

The baker gave Vanille a dry look. “Then it is fortunate that the leader of our village has agreed to cover your expenses, though you would do well to thank her.”

Vanille winced. She would definitely thank the old woman the next time she saw her. However, she was broken from her musing as she watched the baker move about. There was something in the way she moved, something hesitant and vaguely pained that seemed very familiar.

“Your joints ache, don’t they?” Vanille asked. “And they hurt even more when it is cold, right?”

The baker stopped. “Why do you ask?”

“It just seems odd that you haven’t done anything about it.” Vanille shrugged. “It must be difficult to bake if your joints hurt a lot.”

“There is nothing that can be done,” the baker said. “I have spoken with the healers. I am old, Dia, and with age come certain things. I consider myself lucky to still be able to hold a spear when I must.”

“Well, the Dia are supposed to be the best healers amongst all the clans. Perhaps I could take a look?” Vanille offered. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

The baker frowned for a moment and then nodded. “I will be closing soon, so make it quick.”

Vanille started off with a few quick questions and then took a closer look at the baker’s hands. The joints there were particularly stiff, the fingers curled almost into claws. That the woman could have made such wonderful looking food with hands like that amazed her. 

“I’ve seen this kind of thing before,” Vanille murmured. “It’s not that uncommon amongst the older members of the Dia.” She frowned. For a clan of craftsmen and healers like the Dia, the hands were incredibly important, which was why they’d developed several ways to treat the problem even though it was impossible to cure. “Does your healer truly not know a way of treating this?”

The baker shook her head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t have any of the potions and ointments with me now, but I do know how to make them.” Vanille grinned. “If I help you, can I have that loaf of sweet bread there?”

The baker stared for a few seconds and then cackled. “Dia, if you can truly rid me of this pain, then you can have as much bread as you can eat.”

Vanille smirked. “I’m not so sure that you should say that. I may be little, but I have a large appetite.” She turned serious. “But I should probably speak to your village’s healer to see if I can get what I need. I was going to speak to her anyway to see what sort of healing methods the Yun have.”

The baker’s eyes narrowed. “And you would expect her to teach you?”

Vanille nodded. “I hope so, but it wouldn’t be for nothing. I would be teaching her some of what I know as well.”

Vanille left the bakery with a spring in her step – and a load of sweet bread too – but she had hardly gotten more than a few steps before Fujin appeared in front of her.

“Oh… hi.” Vanille did her best not to sound nervous. Please, she thought, don’t let there be more training. She was well enough to walk around, but if she had to run again, she wasn’t sure she’d survive. “What is it?”

Fujin glanced at the loaf of bread and then turned. “COME.”

Vanille followed Fujin as the other woman led them back toward the old woman’s house. When they reached it, Fujin took the loaf of bread from her and then waved her toward the door.

“GO.”

Vanille gave Fujin a curious look and then stepped into the old woman’s house. It was the first time she’d ever been inside, and for several moments, she was content to simply look around. The walls were covered with weapons and trophies from past hunts. The pelt of a huge wolf took pride of place and even though the animal was long dead, Vanille felt a shiver run down her spine. The wolf must have been twice as large as any she’d ever seen.

There were voices coming from further inside the house and she followed them to the dining room. 

“Ah, there you are, young Dia.” The old woman smiled at her from the head of a large table. There was an empty seat at her right hand. “Here, take your place and eat with us.”

The ‘us’ that the old woman was referring to were several warriors. They inclined their heads at Vanille took her spot beside the old woman.

“I saw you wandering our village earlier this evening, young Dia. What do you think of it?” the old woman asked. 

Horribly aware of the fact that every eye in the room was now on her, Vanille did her best to come up with an answer. “I think your village is very beautiful. Everyone I met was working very hard and the blacksmith seemed very skilled indeed.”

One of the warriors lifted her chin proudly. “We are Yun. To give anything less than our best would be an insult to the goddess.” Her lips curled. “And our weapons are the finest in the world.”

“A fine response,” the old woman whispered to Vanille. “Now, listen closely, it will not be often that you have a chance to hear warriors speak so openly.” Then, more loudly, she turned to address one of the other warriors. “Tell me, how did the hunt go this afternoon? I have heard that the wolves have been particularly troublesome this year.”

The warrior grimaced. “That they have, honoured elder. We had to search for some time to find some elk.” She smirked. “But once we found them…”

Vanille listened keenly as the warriors talked back and forth. They didn’t seem to mind that she stayed silent, and the old woman was right, she had never before heard warriors speak so plainly. Much of their talk was about the hunts they went on, but as the dinner wore on, their talk moved to training and then to discussions of battles past and perhaps future. Finally, as the strong fragrant wine that the Yun loved was passed around, the talk turned to matters of a more abstract nature. She waited patiently for a lull in the conversation and then asked a question that had weighed on her mind for quite some time.

“Forgive me if I seem rude, but I have always wondered how the Yun decide if an occupation is honourable or not.” Vanille was pleased to see that none of the warriors seemed angry. If anything, they seemed more amused by her ignorance, as though the answer to her question was utterly obvious. 

However, the old woman merely smiled. “A good question, young Dia.” She paused and let her eyes run over the others at the table. “Too often we grow used to our own ways of thinking. It is good to have to explain them to others from time to time. Doing so ensures that our thinking remains clear and well considered.” She looked back at Vanille. “Honour is a thing of great worth, young Dia, but there are different ways to gain it. One can gain honour by protecting the clan and upholding the Old Laws and the ways of the gods – these are things that a warrior must do. But one can also gain honour in providing for the needs of the clan. This, again, is something that our warriors do, but there are others who also provide for the clan, albeit in different ways. A blacksmith provides weapons, a baker provides bread – such occupations are honourable in their own right.” She gave the warriors at the table a wry grin. “Though perhaps they are less glorious.”

“So honourable occupations are those that either protect the clan and its ways or those that provide for it?” Vanille asked. Amongst the Dia almost any occupation that did not cause undue harm to others could be considered honourable. Indeed, the Dia were often mocked for their generally peaceful ways. But such mocking was, in her opinion, uncalled for. There was a difference between kindness and cowardice and when pushed the Dia had always fought hard to defend what was theirs.

The old woman nodded. “As the goddess protects and provides for us, so too are those occupations that protect and provide considered honourable.” 

A smile tugged at the corners of Vanille’s lips. “Is that why the Yun despise merchants so intensely then?”

The comment drew guffaws from the others at the table and one warrior was quick to speak, her bright green eyes dancing with mirth. “You speak truly, Dia. What good are merchants? They protect nothing and provide only for themselves.” The warrior’s lips curled. “A blacksmith takes metal and with fire and ice they forge fine steel. A baker takes wheat and other things and from that makes exquisite bread. What does a merchant make? Nothing.”

The old woman gave Vanille an amused look and then spoke to the others. “Merchants have their uses and it would be wise for all of you to remember that. You are young yet, but I am old and I have seen much – there are things that a merchant can do that a warrior cannot.” The warriors at the table looked sceptical but none dared to disagree as the old woman’s eyes drifted back to Vanille. “Young Dia, by now you should realise that healing is also an honourable occupation, though sometimes people forget.” Her words were said gently, but almost all of the warriors there squirmed. No doubt they recalled the mocking words that Vanille had been subjected to before. However it was she, a healer, who had reached the mountain of the goddess, not them.

There was a little more talk after that, but soon enough, the warriors bid their goodbyes. They were, Vanille was told, returning to their homes. They had missed the evening meal, but the time after the meal was a time for bonding, a time for the telling of stories and the sharing news. It was, in short, a time to be spent with family.

When all of the warriors had gone, the old woman turned once more to Vanille. “What are you thinking, young Dia?”

Vanille smiled. “That perhaps I am beginning to understand how the Yun think, although I doubtless have a long way to go.”

The old woman rose with a chuckle. “One should never stop learning. Now, come, it is time you went back to your house to get some rest. It is late, and you have training tomorrow.” 

Vanille followed the old woman back to the front door of her house. “Honoured elder,” she murmured. “There is something that has been troubling me. I have noticed that there are many who seem to dislike Fujin yet you seem to favour her. And then, at dinner, she did not stay to eat with us, even though she was the one to bring me here.”

The old woman sighed and looked very much her age. “That is something you must ask Fujin. But be careful, young Dia, you may not like the answer.”

X X X

The next month passed more swiftly than Vanille could ever have imagined. Each day was so full, a heady mix of training and learning that left her with scarcely the energy to crawl into bed each night. Yet she would not have traded it for anything. She was stronger now, and faster, and even though she had yet to land even a single decent hit on Fujin in practice, she no longer felt as though she were simply flailing about with her staff. 

She was even invited on a few hunting trips, and she got to witness first hand the seamless coordination that the Yun relied on to trap and bring down their prey. It was no wonder that so many of the warriors referred to each other as ‘blade sisters’ for truly they seemed as close as family when they fought.

All in all, she had truly begun to feel like one of the Yun, but there was still one thing that continued to puzzle her: the way that people treated Fujin. More than once, Vanille heard words thrown at the silver-haired woman that would have goaded any other Yun into a fight, but each time, Fujin simply walked away. It was baffling too, because Vanille was certain that Fujin could easily have silenced the taunts with her fists, a not uncommon solution amongst the Yun.

One day, however, the taunts finally went too far. They had just come back from another training session when three Yun warriors blocked their path. They had never mistreated Vanille, but they had always been particularly blatant in their disregard for Fujin. 

“Perhaps you should train with us, Dia,” one of the warriors taunted. “A cripple cannot possibly train you properly.”

Vanille bit her lip as Fujin’s whole frame stiffened, but the silver-haired woman simply squared her shoulders and pushed past the three warriors. Or at least she tried to. One of the warriors shoved her back as another tore off her eye patch. Fujin caught herself and then reached up to touch the bare skin of her closed eyelid.

“Looking for something?” One of the warriors dangled the eye patch from her fingers. “Cripple.”

“GIVE BACK.” 

Vanille took a slow step away from Fujin. The intensity in the other woman’s voice was almost frightening.

“GIVE BACK!”

The warrior smirked. “Make me.”

So Fujin did.

With a speed that Vanille simply could not believe, Fujin darted forward and drove one palm up and into the warrior’s chin. The woman’s head snapped back and Fujin’s right leg slammed into her ribs. There was a sick, wet crack, and Vanille knew then and there that Fujin had broken at least one of the other woman’s ribs.

The warrior crashed into the snow as the other two rushed at Fujin with their weapons drawn. Vanille’s eyes widened – to draw a weapon in a situation like this could not possibly be considered honourable. One of the warriors thrust their spear at Fujin, but the silver-haired woman simply took one step to the side. As the spear shot past her, she caught it with one hand then used the other to break the thick wooden shaft of the weapon.

“SLOW.” Fujin tossed the head of the spear away and backhanded the other woman across the face. “COWARD.” 

The woman reeled away and the other darted past her to swipe at Fujin with her sword. Fujin took a step back and then another as the warrior lashed out with several blindingly fast strikes. But as fast as she was, Fujin was even faster. She dodged around a strike meant to cut her from hip to shoulder and locked one hand around the wrist of the warrior’s sword arm. With a sharp tug, Fujin yanked the other woman off balance and as staggered forward, Fujin brought her knee up in a savage blow to the underside of the woman’s arm, just below the shoulder. The woman’s shoulder dislocated with a sick pop and Fujin shoved her away. 

By now a crowd had begun to gather, and Vanille watched as the three warriors struggled back to their feet. Fujin pinned all three of them with her gaze.

“CRIPPLE?” Fujin spat on the ground. “NOT CRIPPLE.” Then she spun on her heel and left.

Vanille looked from Fujin’s retreating form to the battered warriors. She should probably help them, but they had definitely deserved the beating they’d gotten. Besides, she thought grimly, they would provide the village’s healer with a chance to practice some of what Vanille had taught her. Giving the crowd a weak smile, she darted forward to grab Fujin’s eye patch off the ground and then ran after the silver haired woman.

She caught up to Fujin just outside the village. She wasn’t sure where the other woman was going, but she could certainly understand her desire to just get away.

“WHAT?” Fujin barked. Her gaze softened slightly as Vanille handed over the eye patch.

“Why do they treat you like that?”

Fujin tied the eye patch back in place. “DON”T PITY.”

“I don’t pity you.” Vanille winced. “If anything, I pity those warriors you just fought. A dislocated shoulder will take weeks to heal properly. I just… I just want to understand why they treat you like that.”

Fujin looked at her for a moment, her single eye awash with some unreadable emotion. Finally, she nodded. “MOTHER LOVED.” She looked away. “EVERYONE LOVED HER. I BORN. SHE DIED.” Her fists clenched. “YUN PROUD. ONLY PERFECT KEPT. I SMALL. PALE. ONE EYE BAD.” Her jaw clenched. “DISCARDED.”

Vanille’s knees felt weak. They had discarded Fujin? She’d known of the practice, but she had been under the impression that it had largely been abandoned. Bile burned at the back of her throat. Being discarded meant being left out on the mountain to die… they’d left a baby out on the mountain for the cold, and the wolves, and the dragons to kill?

“MY EYES. LIKE BLOOD.” Fujin laughed softly. “CURSED TOO.” She glanced at Vanille and tilted her head to one side. “HAPPY NOW?”

Vanille shivered. “No, no I’m not.” She needed to find the old woman. She needed to ask her what had really happened. 

She found the old woman waiting for her in her house. 

“So, she told you,” the old woman said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Yes.” Vanille clenched her fists. “I need to know if it really happened like she said.” 

Vanille repeated Fujin’s words and when she was done, the old woman could only nod sadly. “Fujin’s mother was one of the most wonderfully skilled warriors that I have ever seen. She was everything a Yun should be: strong of limb and great of heart. Everyone in the village loved her and when she became pregnant, we all rejoiced. But from the day that she announced her pregnancy, tragedy followed her. Her husband was killed during a hunt, and her whole family was taken by sickness. Though she survived, she was terribly ill, and when she finally went into labour, it became clear that she was not strong enough to survive.”

The old woman shook her head slowly as if to banish the awful memories. “She must have known that she was dying because she begged us to cut her body open so that at least her child could live. So, we did as she had asked, but Fujin… Fujin was so pale, young Dia, so small and weak. And her eyes… it has long been believed that those with eyes the colour of blood are destined to leave tragedy in their wake, and so it seemed with her.” She laughed mirthlessly. “And if that were not enough, one of her eyes was damaged, stricken such that it could not bear the light. When the rest of the village found, they were enraged. One of their most beloved had been taken and in their place there was only Fujin. They demanded that she be discarded according to the old customs, customs that we have not used for quite some time.” 

A shudder wracked the old woman’s frame. “To my eternal shame, I let my own anger and sorrow overwhelm me. I let them take Fujin and abandon her on the mountainside. I listened that whole night and not once did I hear her cry out. I thought it was because that cold had killed her, but when morning came and I went to see, she was still alive. I found the corpses of wolves strewn around her, all of them slain by the point of a spear, yet no warrior had gone out that night. I knew then that the goddess had a purpose for her and that I was being granted a chance to atone for my mistakes.”

“What did you do then?” Vanille whispered.

“I took her back with me,” the old woman said. “And though many insisted that she be abandoned once more, I refused. I raised her as my own and trained her as best I could, given my old age. The ways of battle came to her so quickly that it was almost frightening and as you saw today, there are few, if any, who can stand against her.”

“Why didn’t she compete in the Trial?” Vanille asked. “She might have won and surely then the village would have to acknowledge her.”

“Fujin no longer believes in the goddess, or if she does, she despises her.” The old woman sighed. “And I cannot find it in me to blame her. Tell me, young Dia, what will do now that you know?”

Vanille lifted her chin defiantly. “I will train even harder. And when I become good enough to lead, then I will take Fujin as my right hand. I will make everyone see that she is more than worthy.”

X X X

After that, Vanille threw herself into her training with even greater enthusiasm than before. She had grown so much stronger, so much faster, and so much surer of herself and she owed a lot of that to Fujin. She was the chosen of the goddess and one day, most likely soon, she would have to lead the Yun into battle. If she succeeded then surely Fujin’s role in her growth would win the silver haired woman the respect she deserved.

Fujin seemed to sense the difference and Vanille noticed a warming in the other woman’s demeanour. Her speech was still short and clipped, but it lacked the bite that it had once had. Her eyes too were softer and filled with grudging respect. Of course, her training was still brutal – Vanille had yet to make it out of a training session without a few fresh bruises – but something had clearly changed between them. Vanille had found out about Fujin’s past and she hadn’t tossed her aside or pitied her. That, Vanile suspected sadly, was probably something very rare indeed.

Throughout her training, Fujin had taken Vanille farther and farther away from the village during their runs. Two weeks after the revelation of Fujin’s origins, Vanille finally found out why. Their run began as usual, although by now Vanille was able to keep up a decent pace. They went past the tree that she had so painfully dragged herself to on the first day of her training, and then further up the mountain. 

Higher they went, past a waterfall of icy water, and through a thick copse of haggard, skeletal trees. They reached a gap in the path and Vanille felt her heart skip a beat as she followed Fujin and leapt over it. Finally, they stopped on a small outcrop of rock that looked out across the entire mountain range. 

“It’s beautiful,” Vanille whispered. “No wonder you like to run here.” She sank onto her knees. “It’s going to be tough running back though.”

Fujin chuckled softly and gestured at the mountains all around them. “YUN PLACE. MY PLACE.” She looked at Vanille. “NOW…YOUR PLACE.”

Vanille felt tears prickle at her eyes. “Thank you.” It meant so much to have someone like Fujin acknowledge her.

Fujin tapped Vanille’s arm. “WAS WEAK. NOW STRONG.” She tapped Vanille’s chest. “HEART. STRONG FROM START. MAKES WORTHY.” 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you from all the training,” Vanille said. “But I really am thankful.” She chuckled. “I know it must have been a lot of trouble. I wasn’t very good at the start and I still have so much to learn, but I’m glad that you are the one training me.”

Fujin looked away. “NOT BAD FOR DIA.” Her lips curled. “ENOUGH REST. RUN BACK.”

Vanille got to her feet with a groan. Of course they had to run back.

As they started the run back to the village, Fujin glanced over her shoulder at her. “SOON READY. BECOME BLADE SISTER.”

“What?” Vanille nearly tripped over her own feet. “Do you mean that?”

Fujin’s reply was simple. “NEVER JOKE.”

That night, Vanille went to sleep with a big smile on her face. Fujin hadn’t just acknowledged her – she’d said that they might even become blade sisters one day. She almost giggled. She was really starting to feel comfortable amongst the Yun.

Of course, just as she’d begun to get comfortable things had to change yet again. The very next morning she was awakened by frantic yelling coming from outside her house. She opened the door to find out what was causing all of the ruckus only to stop dead in her tracks. 

There was a dragon on her doorstep and it was staring at her.

_Hello._

The voice in her head was almost like a child’s.

_I’m Bhakti. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> Wow… this is one long chapter and what’s scary is that this is only about half of what I’d planned to include. Oh well, I’ll just have to have that other stuff in another chapter. Anyway, this chapter was very long for a reason. I had a lot of ground to cover. Not only did I want to go through Vanille’s training (as it is, she isn’t exactly capable of doing what she needs to do yet), but I also wanted to introduce some more detail about the Yun culture. 
> 
> With regards to Fujin, I debated for a while as to who would be training Vanille, but I eventually settled on Fujin because of the difference in personality and the way that Fujin’s problems can be used to show off a bit more of the Yun culture. You might also have noticed that Vanille’s training parallels Serah’s to some extent. This is not a coincidence. Both of them have been chosen, and if they’re going to stand any chance of surviving what lies ahead, they are both going to need to get stronger. In Vanille’s case this is especially important seeing as how she will have the added responsibility of leading the Yun into battle later on. Also, for those of you who are curious, I chose not to provide the Yun elder’s name deliberately. I’ve also upgraded Bhakti from a robot to a dragon. Indeed, I don’t know how I could have gotten a robot to fit into the story’s current setting.
> 
> As always, I appreciate your feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	6. The First Time, The Wind And The Lightning

**The First Time, the Wind and the Lightning**

Fang felt a harsh mountain gale slip past and smirked. Perhaps she had been just a little obnoxious in sending Bhakti directly to Vanille, but she just hadn't been able to help herself. There was something about the red haired young woman that seemed to bring out both her protective side and her mischievous side. Besides, her chosen had worked herself to the bone over the past few weeks and so a reward was certainly in order. It would also be for the best if Vanille and Bhakti had a chance to get properly acquainted as soon as possible.

Letting another one of the swift mountain winds carry her gaze down to the village, Fang's smirk widened even further as Vanille opened her door only to come face to face with Bhakti. The dragon was a pale metallic red and still quite young – he measured a mere twenty feet long. Still, his youth was a good thing. Most dragons were too proud to let anyone except her ride them. Vanille's ride back to the village had been something of an exception. Of all dragon's, Bahamut was closest to Fang so once Fang had given Vanille her approval, Bahamut's had not been far behind.

Bhakti, however, was still young enough that he hadn't yet developed the fierce pride that was so common amongst the older dragons. More than that, he'd always been quite easygoing for a dragon, and he had a definite curiosity toward humans, a curiosity that did not extend to what they tasted like. Fang had seen him flying close to human settlements on many occasions. He even had a collection of human knickknacks in his cave, things like old spears and clothes. Fang thought it was quite endearing, although the other dragons didn't seem to think too much of it.

A chuckle left Fang's lips as down in the village, Bhakti ambled over to Vanille and gave her face a long lick. The young woman squeaked and would have tripped over in surprise, but Bhakti's tail swung out to catch her. The whole thing drew a cry of disbelief from the assembled Yun, most of who were armed to the teeth. Just like Fang had expected though, Vanille was quick to gather her courage. A little gingerly, she reached over to give Bhakti a gentle pat on the head. The dragon made a happy sound and leaned into her touch. Good, Fang thought. It wasn't perfect, but it was definitely a start.

As the young woman and the dragon continued to get better acquainted under the watchful eyes of almost the entire village, Fang found her mind drawn back to days long past. Long ago, long before Cocoon became the False Paradise and was torn from the sky, things had been very different. She hadn't spent almost all of her time on her mountain. Instead, she had served the High Mother faithfully, using her skills as one of the finest warriors amongst the gods to deal with any problems that required divine intervention. However, not all of her duties had been so unpleasant. In particular, she had often found herself tasked with looking after some of the younger gods and goddesses that hadn't yet grown powerful enough to look after themselves.

X X X

"Fang, you said you were going to play with me!"

Fang looked up at the young goddess glaring down at her and grinned lazily. Aerith might only look like a girl of seven or eight, but she was still a goddess, and an angry goddess was not something to be trifled with – unless of course the person doing the trifling was Fang. No one short of the High Mother could order her around, and even the High Mother had come to realise that Fang was not someone who took well to orders. It made her… rebellious.

"No, I didn't, Aerith." Fang made a show of looking sleepy and moved one arm out from under her head to cover her face. The ground beneath her was soft and covered with lush grass and flowers. "What I said was that I would watch over you so that you could come here and play." She faked a yawn. "Now, go off and play. I am going to have a nap."

Aerith sank onto her knees beside Fang's head and poked her in the cheek. Few gods would have dared to do such a thing, but Aerith had no such reservations. Fang had always been very nice to her, and she wasn't boring or stuffy like so many of the other gods. "Please, Fang. You know that the High Mother doesn't let me off Cocoon very much. You have to come and play with me!"

Fang moved her arm off her face and gave a melodramatic sigh. "The High Mother doesn't let you off Cocoon very much, Aerith, because you have a knack for finding trouble. What's more, your ability to find trouble far exceeds your ability to get out of it." She grinned. "Remember what happened the last time you snuck off Cocoon?"

The young goddess actually winced and Fang snickered. "It wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know that the desert was supposed to be there? It looked really sad with nothing but sand everywhere. I thought some flowers and a forest might make things prettier."

Fang smiled. As a young goddess, Aerith was still coming to terms with her powers and when it was appropriate to use them. "Things are the way they are for a reason. There are some animals, Aerith, that can only live in a desert. If you take the desert away, then all of those animals will die." She gave Aerith a gentle pat on the leg as the young goddess's features fell. "Don't worry too much about it. The High Mother was able to fix things, so nothing too bad happened. And you aren't the first goddess to make a mistake like that. I still remember the time I created a hurricane by accident. The High Mother was not pleased."

Aerith giggled. "A hurricane?" Her eyes lit up and she reached into the pockets of her pink dress and pulled out a red rose. "Here, Fang, look at what I can do!"

Fang sat up a little as Aerith's brows furrowed in concentration. Unlike most of the other gods and goddesses, Aerith hadn't been created by the High Mother and High Father. Instead, she had been found washed up on the banks of the Lifestream, a river that was said to be made of the very blood of Pulse, a titanic slumbering god whose body had been used to make the entire world. Of all beings in creation, Pulse was the only that Fang had ever heard of whose powers might rival those of the High Mother and High Father. Needless to say, the High Mother had been most curious to know what Aerith was capable of, and thus far the young goddess had not disappointed. There were things that she could do that not even the High Mother and High Father could.

"Well?" Fang asked, a hint of amusement in her voice as several moments passed. "What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?"

Aerith pouted adorably, but did not look away from the rose she held in her hands. "Don't rush me, I only just worked out how to do this."

A white glow filled the young goddess's hands and Fang's eyes widened as the beautiful red rose lit up like a small sun. As the glow faded, the rose's petals changed from a dark red, to a deep, sapphire blue.

Aerith giggled. "Look, a blue rose, Fang!" Grinning she poked the stem of the rose back into the ground and almost immediately a whole bush of blue roses sprang up. "I asked the High Mother if there was such a thing as a blue rose and she said there wasn't so I thought it would nice to make some."

"I see." Fang stood up to examine the bush of blue roses more closely. Creating something new, actually altering life – that wasn't something that just any god could do. She gave Aerith a cheerful grin. "Well, I have to admit, they do look very beautiful." She smirked. "Now how about some roses with stripes? Do you think you can do that?"

"Stripes?" Aerith made a face. "I only just worked out how to make them blue! And why would you want a rose with stripes anyway?"

"It was just a thought." Fang stretched her arms and the wind around them kicked up a fraction in response. A gentle breeze from the east whispered something in her ear and she turned to Aerith. "You like chocobos, don't you?"

Aerith nodded instantly. "They're so pretty."

"Then come with me." Fang took the younger goddess by the hand and the two of them vanished in a swirl of flower petals as a sudden gale swept through the meadow. They reappeared in a nearby field where a flock of chocobos had stopped do drink from a large pond. The big, golden-feathered birds startled a little at their appearance and then turned back to the water.

"Wow." Aerith's green eyes widened almost comically. "How did you know there were chocobos here?"

Fang smirked. "A little bird told me."

Aerith frowned. "That can't be right. I was right next to you and I didn't see a bird." She caught the grin on Fang's lips and gave the other goddess a punch in the leg. "Oh, you're making fun of me aren't you? Tell me, how did you know?"

Fang caught Aerith's fists before she could throw another punch. It wasn't that the blows hurt, but it wouldn't do for Aerith to get used to doing such things. Other gods might not take so kindly to her antics, adorable as they were. "Well, if you really want to know… I am the goddess of the wind, Aerith. I have but to listen and the wind will tell me all of its secrets." She waved one hand at the chocobos. "Why don't you go say hello?"

Aerith reached out to clasp Fang's hand. "But I don't want to scare them away…"

Fang shook her head. The gods carried a divine aura about them that tended to both awe and terrify mortal beings, but Fang was also the goddess of the hunt, and she had always had a special connection with animals. She had a feeling too that Aerith's kind and gentle nature would definitely win the chocobos over. "You will be fine if you're with me. Just make sure that you keep a close watch on your powers." She smiled. "And don't even think of trying to turn any of them blue."

"I wouldn't do that," Aerith replied. She looked away. "But I think it would be kind of nice to have silver and gold chocobos…"

"Really?" Fang gave Aerith's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just don't tell them that."

Slowly, Fang led Aerith toward the chocobos. The birds startled once again as they drew closer, but little by little they calmed as it became obvious that neither of the goddesses meant any harm. Eventually, a little chocobo chick even wandered over to Aerith and pecked at her feet. The young goddess gave a cry of delight and reached down to pick the little bird up.

"Are you hungry?" Aerith asked. The chick gave a quiet cheep and Aerith giggled. Gently, she plucked a blade of grass from the ground. "Here, have some grass."

The chocobo gave Aerith a quizzical look and Fang chuckled. "They prefer seeds, Aerith." She bent down and gathered several from the ground. "Here."

They stayed with the chocobos for a little while longer until the birds decided to move on, most likely toward the broad, open plains to the east.

"I wish I could come out here more often," Aerith said with a sigh as she sank down by the edge of the pond. "But even if I didn't cause trouble, I don't think the High Mother would let me."

Fang sat down beside her. "There are things out here that can hurt or even kill a god, Aerith. The High Mother simply wants you to be safe."

In that respect, Fang had been entirely too busy for her liking. Something had been happening to the gods that embodied the mountains. Colossal beings of rock and snow and iron, they were, like Aerith, born not of the High Mother and High Father but of Pulse. Normally, they were content to sleep away the ages, but as of late they had grown restless, hostile even. Fang might have relished the challenge of facing a living mountain in battle, but she derived no joy at all in having to kill one.

"What's wrong, Fang?" Aerith asked. "You're not smiling anymore."

Fang shook herself and grinned. "Don't worry about it. I was just thinking about some work I've had to do recently." She made a face. "You know how busy I am sometimes. Now, how about you tell about some of your friends on Cocoon? I don't like spending much time up there, but I'm sure you must have made lots of friends."

Aerith nodded eagerly. "I have. Everyone has been really kind to me." She tilted her head to one side. "Fang, have you met Lightning?"

Fang grinned. "No, I haven't met her, but I've certainly heard a lot." Her lips curled. It wasn't everyday that she heard about a goddess who might actually be a match for her in battle.

Aerith smiled. "Then you just have to meet her. She watched over me the last time I got off Cocoon since you were busy." She sighed. "She's so beautiful, but she's really quiet. She's strong though, really, really strong. A hydra tried to attack me and she just…" Aerith threw her hands up in the air. "Blew it to bits."

"A hydra?" Fang had dealt with hydras before. They were nasty creatures, supposedly born from the blood of Pulse, although she had a hard time believing that the same entity that created Aerith could have created something like a hydra. Then again, Pulse had been asleep for as long as almost anyone could remember. Perhaps hydras were simply a twisted reflection of its dreams. In any case, hydras were tough, nasty creatures. They could grow to be as big as dragons and they had a knack for regeneration. Killing a hydra was the opposite of easy. "Really? She just blew it to its? Maybe I should pay Cocoon another visit. It might be fun to spar someone like that."

Aerith opened her mouth to reply, but the words were lost to Fang as her head was suddenly filled with frantic cries for help. She clenched her jaw and shook her head to clear it. The prayers had come from the Yun. She was their patron goddess so their prayers had always been particularly easy for her to hear. They were a proud clan of warriors, so for them to call out to her like this something terrible must have happened. Ignoring the look of concern on Aerith's face, she reached out to the winds, let them become her eyes and ears.

What she heard and saw did not please her. A sibilant hiss, one of the tearing winds that rushed down the mountains of the Yun out onto the open plains, spoke of a mountain come to life. It was one of Pulse's children, a titan of rock and ice gone mad.

"Aerith," Fang murmured. "I need to go." She whistled and mere moments later, the air was torn apart by the might wing beats of Bahamut. "Bahamut can take you back to Cocoon."

"Fang, what's wrong?" Aerith asked even as Bahamut reached down to pick her up in one enormous claw.

Fang smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. It's nothing I can't handle. Just go with Bahamut."

As soon as Bahamut was airborne again, Fang let the winds sweep her up and carry her to where she needed to be. She arrived in a whirlwind, blasting ice and snow outward in all directions as she settled in the air over one of the Yun's villages. The terrified villagers looked up at her in a mix of awe and relief, but her gaze was not on them, but to the east, to the thing that had driven them from their homes and onto the streets.

One of the mountains, a great peak of ice, and rock, and snow, had begun to crack. Crevasses spread out from the summit as banks of snow and ice tumbled free. There was a sound like the ending of the world as the entire mountaintop split apart. One arm appeared from within the maelstrom of broken stone and ice and then another, each of them too large for anything but a god to comprehend.

"Go," Fang growled to the Yun beneath her. "Leave your things. Flee while you still can."

In the distance, several dragons swooped down on the mountaintop and bathed it in fire. But almost as soon as they had started, they fell, frozen solid in midair. Her eyes narrowed. The gods of the mountains moved now and then, but only recently had they begun to move in so violent a fashion. More than one god had already died trying to reason with them, but Fang still felt obligated to try.

"Brother!" Fang bellowed, voice carrying over the winds. "Stay your hand."

The response she received was swift and unmistakable. A wave of malice rolled off the mountain along with a bitter cold so intense that even she was hard-pressed to shake it off. Thankfully, the villagers had used the few moments after her arrival to flee for their lives for the unnatural wave of cold had already begun to create a thin layer of ice over all of the houses. She pursed her lips. The mountain god was still several miles away. For the cold to be this bad at this distance, it must have been angry indeed. Not even the High Mother knew what had caused the recent changes in their behaviour, but it was Fang's duty to prevent any further harm, even if it meant killing the errant mountain god.

With a roar that shook the sky, the mountain god tore its way free of the mountain. It was a titan, a vaguely humanoid colossus that towered over everything. It had to be at least a mile tall, so enormous that its head was wreathed in the thin clouds that ringed the mountains. Great banks of ice and snow clung to its rocky form, and as its eyes fell upon Fang, it let loose another deep, bass bellow.

Fang met the mountain god's eyes evenly despite the great distance between them. Those eyes were larger than houses and filled with madness so complete that Fang felt a surge of pity sweep through her. Then the cold came, even stronger than it had been before, and Fang was forced to gather the winds to her, to thrust them out like a spear to turn the cold aside. Even so, she was hard-pressed to remain in the air and the sky shuddered. Below her, the Yun village was frozen beneath a layer of ice several feet thick.

There would be no reasoning with this mountain god, just as there had been no reasoning with the ones that she'd been forced to deal with before. There would be only battle. Slowly, she raised one hand and the winds surged, building and building until, with a howl, her lance appeared. It was a simple but elegant weapon, but the unearthly gleam of its edge left no doubt at all about its divine origins.

"What are you waiting for?" Fang growled as she levelled the lance at the mountain god's heart. "Let us settle this."

The mountain god's answer did not come in words. It stooped down and flung a chunk of rock the size of the village at Fang. Her eyes widened and she flicked her lance up and back. Immediately, the weapon's form shifted from that of a lance to something far closer to a whip. She lashed the weapon forward and it became a mile-long whip of almost impossible sharpness. There was a shriek as the lance bit into the chunk of rock and then a howl as she sliced the rock in two. The two halves crashed into the mountains on either side of her and she lifted her chin defiantly.

Incensed, the mountain god let loose another roar of fury and took first one step forward and then another. The ground trembled and snow tumbled loose on all the mountains around them. The mountain god drew one arm back and flung it forward. House sized shards of ice and stone ripped free and hurtled toward Fang. Her lips curled and she let the winds carry her up and then sideways to avoid the first few shards. Her blue sari flapped madly in the gale she'd summoned, and she drew her lance back into its original form. There were too many shards to dodge. She'd simply have to cut her way through.

A shard of ice rushed toward her and she brought her lance around to cut the shard in half. Sparks flew and ice went everywhere as the shards came apart all around her. She used the winds to fling the debris away and then spun to knock away another shard. A third closed in, even larger than the others and she let the winds carry her just high enough for it to pass beneath her. But rather than let it continue on its trajectory, she drove her lance deep into the surface of the slab of ice and rock. With a growl of effort, she levered the whole slab around and hurled it back at the mountain god.

The slab was easily a hundred feet long and it caught the mountain god squarely in the chest. Yet the titan never paused, if anything, it barely even seemed to notice that it had been struck. With a speed that nothing its size should possess, the mountain god rumbled forward and drove one enormous fist toward Fang. Fang cursed and surged upward as the mountain god's fist passed beneath her. It struck the Yun village and the sheer force of the impact sent a shudder through the mountain the village was on, and reduced the village itself to little more than a crater. Yet she had precious little time to wonder how the Yun would feel about losing their village, for only moments later, that same fist ripped out of the ground and swung her way again.

She was too close to the dodge the blow, so instead, she caught it on her lance. The raw power of it sent her tumbling through the sky, end over end. She hit a nearby mountain and hissed as her body carved a trench several hundred feet long before she finally managed to find her feet again. Shaking her head to clear it, she batted a tree off her body and took to the air once more. She was strong, stronger than almost any god, but against something the size of a mountain, even that strength would be outmatched.

The mountain god threw another punch, but this time, she managed to get clear. As she dove to the side, she let her lance extend once again and wrapped it around the mountain god's wrist. The weapon bit into the mountain god's flesh and she grit her teeth and yanked as hard as she could. The mountain god howled in pain as its hand tumbled to the ground, kicking up a spray of snow and rock. Almost immediately, however, the wound began to heal as fresh rock rippled up from the mountainside to replace the mountain god's severed hand.

Fang bit back a curse. The mountain god was in its element here. It must have watched over these mountains for countless ages, drawing strength from them. As long as it was here, it would be able to use the mountains to regenerate. In that case, she would simply have to inflict damage faster than it could regenerate.

Well aware of the danger, Fang streaked forward and drove her lance right into the titan's chest. The blow gouged a crater nearly a hundred feet wide and she dodged out of the way as the mountain god tried to crush her with its hands. Airborne again, she let her lance extend and carved a gash out of the mountain god's body that went almost the whole way from its hip to its shoulder. But as much as she wanted to stay in close, she could not. It was cold there, bitterly cold, and even with her winds there to help ward it off, her teeth had already begun to chatter.

Easing back, Fang put distance between herself and the mountain god. It growled and flung great chunks of rock up after her, but she dodged back and forth between them with an agility that no dragon could ever hope to match. With a growl of her own, she gathered the winds to her. They came at once, howling, screaming, roaring until the whole sky was torn with the force of them, and then she flung them at the mountain god. The attack actually forced the giant back, and the wind carved vast canyons all along the mountain god's body. Yet no sooner had the winds begun to ebb than the wounds began to heal. She scowled. Despite her previous success, her powers were ill suited for dealing with mountain gods. Something made of fire or water would have been far easier to deal with. Mountains, as a general rule, did not bow easily to the wind.

She was contemplating her next action when she felt a shift in the wind. Something was coming toward her and the mountain god at an unbelievable speed. Thunder rolled over her and there was a flash of light from the horizon. A bolt of lightning sizzled toward the mountain god and struck it in the shoulder. Fresh thunder rang out from the impact and the mountain god reeled back, its entire shoulder melted from the attack. Ice and snow rained down and Fang turned to regard the newcomer.

The newcomer was a goddess, but not one that Fang had ever seen before. A cloak the colour of freshly split blood covered most of the goddess's form, but the hood had been pulled back so that her face was clearly visible. Pink hair was the most obvious feature, a shade that Fang had only ever seen in the first, fleeting moments of the dawn. But her face… it was a face that was at once strong yet utterly feminine, a face that seemed to hold only the finest features of the High Mother. The goddess's full lips were drawn into a firm line, and her eyes, each of them the colour of the clear, summer sky, were narrowed in concentration.

This, Fang realised, must be Lightning. Yet even as she stared, the other goddess took a position on a neighbouring mountaintop and glared defiantly at the mountain god. And what a glare it was, enough to give even a dragon pause, or so Fang thought. The mountain god bellowed and still nursing its wounded shoulder, it began to stride toward Lightning. But Lightning, it seemed, had no intention at all of allowing it to get any closer.

With an almost casual gesture, the pink haired goddess seized her red cloak and tossed it aside. The wind caught it and swept it away, revealing the crystal armour than Lightning wore beneath it. Once again, Fang found herself staring, for Lightning's body was slim and toned, and her armour itself was magnificent. It shone in the cold rays of the sun, made of seemingly the same crystal as Cocoon itself. As the mountain god drew closer, Lightning lifted one hand. Crackling electricity gathered, and with a wordless cry, she flung it at the mountain god.

There was thunder and the scent of melted rock, and the mountain god reeled away again. But it would not be deterred so easily. Again, it strode forward, and again Lightning drove it back with a thunderbolt that seemed to split the very skies. Great chunks of melted rock slewed off the mountain god's form, but still, it pressed on, relentless. But Lightning refused to be moved. She hammered the mountain god with attack after attack, utterly magnificent in the light of her own power, her lithe form wreathed in a halo of electricity. No wonderful Aerith liked her, Fang thought, for there was a beauty to the way the other goddess wielded her power, a simply honesty in the raw force of each attack. And there was beauty too in the way that Lightning's hair looked as the wind caught it, in the determined set of her jaw, and in the defiance that blazed in her eyes.

But the mountain god would not be stopped. Finally, it towered over Lightning and it raised one titanic fist to crush the goddess in a single devastating blow. Fang moved, ready to pull Lightning clear of the attack, but she needn't have bothered. Lightning tossed her head back, hair billowing in the wind, and lifted both hands. A great crack split the sky and jagged forks of lightning raced down to gather in Lightning's hands.

As the mountain god's fist hurtled down, Lightning unleashed the power she'd gathered. That fist, that enormous fist that seemed to fill the whole sky above the goddess, came apart in a shower of blasted stone and steam. Fragments the size of boulders hurtled through the air as Lightning glared up at the mountain god and for a moment the mountain god actually wavered. And then finally, finally, Lightning was forced to give ground and abandon the mountaintop as the mountain god simply threw its entire body down upon the mountain to try and crush her.

Lightning reappeared next to Fang – by the High Mother, Fang thought, the other goddess was fast – and Fang immediately found herself the subject of a ferocious scowl.

"Why were you simply watching?" Lightning's voice came out in a furious, but beautiful, growl.

Fang grinned and took a casual pose. "I've heard a great deal about you. I assumed you could manage." Her grin widened. "Was I wrong?"

Lightning's scowl deepened. "The High Mother sent me to aid you when she sensed the mountain god's awakening." Her lips curled. "From what I saw, she was right to send me."

Fang's lips twitched. Good. She would have been so very disappointed if Lightning had simply allowed her to get away with her taunts. "I was doing perfectly fine, actually."

Lightning met Fang's gaze evenly. "It did not seem that way."

"Yes, well, you didn't exactly do much better." Fang pointed to the mountain god that had once more gotten to its feet. Already, the wounds that Lightning had inflicted were almost healed. "See."

Lightning's eyes narrowed ominously and Fang could almost feel the storm gathering on the horizon. "Then what would you suggest?"

"We need to hit it with something bigger. Something large enough that it cannot regenerate from it." Fang smirked. "Or hadn't you thought of that." Lightning opened her mouth to reply, but Fang put one finger on her lips to stop her. The other goddess's eyes widened for a moment before they filled with fury, and Fang had to bite back a laugh. Lightning was far more fun to tease that Aerith. "I will distract it. Your lightning is better suited to dealing with it than my wind. Summon something bigger than what you've been using so far." She tilted her head to one side. "And really, what kind of name is Lightning? Couldn't you think of anything better?"

Lightning shoved Fang away. "You are hardly one to talk, oh Fang of the Heavens."

Fang had never heard her name spoken so sarcastically before – no one had ever dared – yet somehow she found that she quite liked the sound of it on Lightning's lips. "Clever. Now, go prepare your attack. I will distract it."

Fang waved cheerfully as Lightning flew to one of the adjacent mountaintops. Whatever the goddess was going to do, it had better be good. Mindful of the need to distract the mountain god, Fang shifted her attention back to the massive creature. Its features were twisted into a mask of fury, and she could feel the temperature of the air drop even further. With a deep breath, she glided forward. It was time to draw the mountain god's attention.

She shifted her lance into its whip-like form once more and launched it at the mountain god's head. There was a crunch before the blade caught and then carved a huge furrow across the mountain god's brow. Slabs of rock and ice tumbled down and the mountain god let loose a roar of outrage as it turned its attention to her.

With a howl, the mountain god ripped another chunk out of the mountain beside it and hurled it at Fang. She dove for the ground, letting the projectile thunder through the air above her and crash into another mountain. Hopefully, there wasn't anything important on that mountain. As she rose back up into the air, she drew the winds to her again, not to try and drive the mountain god back, but to try and blind it. The mountain god reeled away, one hand raised over its face as it tried to swat her out of the sky with the other. She dodged back and then threw her lance. It shot right through the mountain god's palm and she banked sharply away as she called the weapon back to her hands.

"Hurry up," she shouted at Lightning.

The other goddess glared at Fang and then lifted one hand. "To me, my sword."

The words were spoken in something barely more than a whisper, but the response seemed to shatter the whole sky. A great lightning bolt ripped through the air from the direction of Cocoon. It howled toward Lightning and struck her outstretched palm. When the light faded, Lightning's hand was no longer empty. There was a sword there, and not just any sword. The hilt was simple and without ornamentation, functional really, but the blade… the metal was unlike anything Fang had seen before. It was like the surface of a cloudy mirror, but within it were great jagged forks of lightning, as though someone had managed to capture a storm and trap it within the sword.

It was the Sword of Gathering Storms, a weapon that, by all accounts, Lightning had forged out of her own being. It was also one of the few weapons that Fang suspected might be able to rival her own God-Slaying Spear – Kain's Lance – in terms of raw power. Her lips curled. She was half-tempted to call down Kain's Lance just to see how closely the two weapons really compared, but that was not a weapon she could call down without consequences. Its name, after all, gave away its purpose, and it was never to be used unless she had no alternative. Still, she had asked Lightning to hit the mountain god with something big and the Sword of Gathering Storms more than qualified.

The mountain god seemed to recognise the danger as well, for it turned toward Lightning again, but Fang had no intention of letting it reach the other goddess. With a cry, she darted forward and drove her lance right into the middle of the mountain god's back. It bellowed and tried to crush her, but she slipped away just in time to avoid its grasp.

"Are you simply going to pose with that thing?" Fang asked. "Hurry up and use it."

Lightning gave Fang a scowl and then lifted her sword skyward. The clouds above them darkened almost immediately and the crack and boom of thunder filled the air. A funnel of black clouds tore down from the sky, wreathed with lightning, and wrapped around the blade. In Lighting's hands, the sword began to hum, a sound that seemed to echo through every point of the sky. As the clouds grew blacker, the blade itself grew brighter and brighter, the storm contained within it gathering force as the cloudy mirror of its surface grew clearer and clearer.

The mountain god tried once again to move toward Lightning, but Fang was there, once again, to stop it.

"Not so fast!" Fang growled as she thrust her lance out. The weapon extended and wrapped around one of the mountain god's ankles. With a groan of effort, she yanked the weapon back as hard as she could. For a split-second, the mountain god stopped, and then, with a ponderous groan, it toppled to its knees. The whole mountain range shook, but that hardly mattered. She had, at least for a few moments, stopped a living mountain.

The blade of Lightning's sword grew brighter still and then with a sound like a clear, silver bell, it shattered apart. The storm inside it came to life, forged into a blade of pure electricity, one that seemed to hold the fury of every storm the world had ever seen. The sky shook, trembled, and screamed, torn apart by a single, unending peal of thunder.

"This is the sword that tears the clouds asunder," Lightning growled. "The sword that shatters the sky." She shifted her stance and put both hands on the weapon. Vaguely, Fang realised that Lightning's armour had begun to smoulder, along with the gloves that she wore. "Against it, even a mountain would break!"

With those words, Lightning exploded forward, her whole form wreathed in her namesake. Barely able to make out Lightning's form past the glow of her attack, Fang put one hand up to shield her eyes. The mountain god swung one hand out, but Lightning dodged beneath it. Shards of ice and rock hurtled toward her, but she wove her way past those as well. One particularly huge slab of rock flew toward her, and she landed on its surface, sprinting across it with an agility that left even Fang in awe. In Lightning's wake, the slab of rock came apart, sundered by the force of the blade in her hands. Magnificent, Fang thought, absolutely magnificent.

Lightning closed in on the mountain god, her blade aimed squarely at its chest and in that instant, Fang could only stare. Lightning's whole being was there, laid bare in that single moment of impossible speed and absolute resolution. Her whole face shone with unshakable determination. Lightning was someone who would never give up, never give in, never show weakness. No wonder Aerith liked her so much.

The blade struck the centre of the mountain god's chest, and for an instant there was nothing. And then there was the explosion, a blast of white-hot force and raw electricity that seemed to fill the whole world. The mountain god screamed, but the cry was drowned out by the sudden, insurmountable boom of a billion thunderbolts rolled into one.

And then the mountain god was toppling back, its entire body blown apart, every rock, every shard of ice, every flake of snow turned into a molten slag of ruined material. It rained down on the mountainside, destroyed utterly. Fang had to call a wind up to shield herself from the hail of debris, and then she swiftly called another, stronger wind to ensure that none of the debris reached any of the Yun's settlements.

Lightning stood alone on the mountainside, atop a slab of what had once been part of the mountain god. The slab was melted into glass, but she stood there motionless and unyielding as the ice and snow of the mountain washed over the slab and spread a fine spider's web of cracks across it. She flicked her sword to one side, almost as though she were clearing it of blood, and then she turned to Fang.

"You are staring."

Fang chuckled and landed next to Lightning. She had indeed been staring. Watching Lightning made her blood sing. "You know, I find myself wondering which of us would win if I were to call down the God-Slaying Spear."

For a moment, Lightning's eyes widened, and in that moment Fang saw a host of emotions before the other goddess clamped down on them. There had been surprise at first, then curiosity, anger, and most of all passion. No doubt Lightning also wanted to know which one of them would win.

"This is not the time." Lightning turned her gaze toward Cocoon. "We must report what happened to the High Mother."

Fang grinned. "You can do that. I need to check on the Yun."

Lightning's gaze sharpened for a moment and Fang found herself suddenly looking down the length of the Sword of Gathering Storms. "Very well. But you should give the High Mother your report as well. Perhaps we may even find the time to see which one of us is stronger, though I doubt even your God-Slaying Spear will help you much against me."

"Is that a challenge?" Fang asked, grinning.

Lightning smiled coldly. "A challenge? That would imply that we are equals." And then, before Fang could reply, she was gone with only the ring of thunder and the scent of ozone to signal her departure.

Fang stared in the direction of Cocoon for a moment and then burst out laughing. She would have to make sure that the Yun were all right, but then she might just pay a visit to Cocoon to take Lightning up on her challenge. Win or lose – and for the first time in an age, Fang wasn't sure which one it would be – she would certainly enjoy herself.

X X X

Fang sighed and turned her eyes back to Vanille and Bhakti. Her memories of the past were, as always, bittersweet. She chuckled softly. Lightning had always inspired such feelings in her. There was joy, yes, but there were dark emotions too. Lightning had, in many ways, been both the best and worst thing in Fang's life. Still, her feelings were not one sided, for she knew that Lightning's feelings for her were every bit as convoluted.

Perhaps that was why they had ended up floating in the skies over a battle-scarred Cocoon with the clamour of divine battle all around them. Lightning with her Sword of Gathering Storms, and Fang with her God-Slaying Spear and both of them with so much blood on their hands. What a mess that had been, what an absolute, unmitigated disaster.

Fang closed her eyes. There hadn't been time then to… well, not apologise, but at least talk. Explain. There had been only the shock of discovery, of understanding what Cocoon had truly become and then… the Fall. She sighed. Well, perhaps she would have her chance to talk, to explain. But not yet. She wasn't sure if either of them were ready for something like that – if they ever would be. Besides, she still had watch over Vanille, just as Lightning had to watch over her own chosen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> Okay… so, I couldn't help myself. I wasn't sure whether I would put the second half of Vanille's chapter here or the next part of Serah's adventure here, but this sort of popped into my head while writing the last chapter and I just couldn't stop myself. I know people have been curious about just how Fang and Lightning know each other, and this goes some way to answering those questions while at the same time raising even more.
> 
> You'll notice too that I included Pulse as a third sort of major figure, along with the High Mother and High Father. The whole thing about the Lifestream being thought of as Pulse's blood just sort of made sense to me. After all, the world is called Gran Pulse, what better set up than for it to literally be Pulse. And if Pulse is the world, then that makes it the planet and as anyone who has played Final Fantasy VII can tell you, the Planet and the Lifestream are pretty closely connected… and speaking of Planets and Lifestreams… we all know how closely Aerith is connected to all of that. Hence, Aerith's position as a goddess born not of the High Mother and High Father (whose identities should be getting fairly clear by now), but of Pulse. Oh, and she happens to be good with plants – just like you'd expect from a flower girl.
> 
> As a sidenote, I should probably mention that Aerith is from Final Fantasy VII. On a similar, but slightly different note, Fujin, who appeared in the last chapter, is from Final Fantasy VIII.
> 
> As always, I appreciate your feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	7. The Town

**The Town**

From what Serah could remember, the town wasn't more than a few hours away. Since her terrible encounter with a bandit, they had also been fortunate enough to avoid any further trouble. Indeed, they had met very people at all on their journey, and the few people they did see were simple villagers travelling from village to village.

Lightning also seemed to have warmed a little more over the past few days as well. The goddess still pushed her to her limits during their morning practice, but the harsh words that she had spoken regarding the bandit's death had not been repeated. Perhaps the goddess realised that there was no need to repeat them – they were all but burned into Serah's mind, or perhaps the goddess had realised that Serah could not take much more. Yes, she was learning the ways of the sword with a speed that in all honesty should have frightened her, but at heart she was still a blacksmith's daughter. Almost all of her life had been spent in the safe confines of the village. The battlefield was not something she had ever thought she would encounter, except for in tall tales.

Serah also worried about how Lightning would fit in once they reached the town. There were things the goddess did that marked her apart from any mere mortal. It was in the way that Lightning held herself, in the somehow regal nature of her bearing, even as she went about tasks as menial as unhitching the chocobos or making breakfast. It had been years since Serah had seen one of Cocoon's nobles, but even those dim memories paled in comparison to Lightning.

There was also another, more mundane problem to confront as well. Throughout their journey, Serah had simply referred to Lightning by her name. Well, she supposed it was her name – she had no way to be sure, and she certainly wasn't about to challenge the goddess on that account. However, 'Lightning' was not, by any means, a normal name. They could, perhaps, play it off as a nickname of sorts, but they might eventually have need for something a little more mundane.

"Lightning," Serah murmured as she turned to look at the goddess. "It will not be long before we reach town. Do you have another name that I can call you? 'Lightning' is a little strange for a name." The goddess's gaze shifted from the road to fall squarely on her and Serah found herself almost babbling in her haste to get the words out. "I mean, Lightning is a fine name, but it isn't a particularly common one in this area and I assumed that you wanted to avoid attention and –"

Something that was almost amusement flickered in Lightning's eyes before she reached up with one hand and placed a finger upon Serah's lips. The gesture was so unexpected that Serah froze mid-sentence. Lightning seemed oddly at ease with the gesture, as though it was something she had done many times before. It was a strangely human gesture to make too.

"Calm yourself. I am not angry." Lightning pulled her hand away. "You are my chosen. You must learn to stand firmly, whether it is in battle or in conversation. Besides, you are right. A name such as mine is unusual and there may be those who still remember what I once was."

"So, do you have another name that we can use?" Serah asked softly.

"I did, once." Lightning's eyes drifted back to the road again. It had drizzled the previous night, and though the road was not especially muddy, it was still soft enough that care needed to be taken. Certainly, the chocobos feet would need to be cleaned once they stopped. "Before I slept, long before I slept, I had another name. But I cast it aside when I lost the one who gave it to me." She glanced up at the eastern sky. There were clouds there that looked heavy with rain and the promise of thunder. "You know these lands better than I do. Choose a name on my behalf."

Serah pursed her lips. She had not expected that and despite the goddess's earlier words, she found herself a little taken aback. What name should she pick? There were a host of names to choose from, but none of them seemed right. After all, Lightning was a goddess. The name of a baker's daughter hardly seemed suitable, nor did the name of a farmer's wife seem appropriate. But there was one name, a name that she'd carried in her heart for almost as long as she could remember. She had always liked the sound of it, as though it had once been very dear to her.

"Claire," Serah murmured before a smile spread across her face. "Your name will be Claire."

"Claire?" For the first time that Serah could remember, there was surprise in Lightning's voice. Some of it even managed to slip onto the goddess's features before she schooled them back into that expression of cool detachment. "Did you say Claire?" Lightning's eyes were dark and heavy with some unreadable emotion.

"Yes…" Serah fidgeted, keenly aware of the full force of Lightning's gaze upon her. Some of the goddess's control over her divine presence had also slipped and Serah had to struggle just to breathe. "'I've always liked that name and… it seemed to fit." Lightning relaxed slightly and Serah found that she could breathe again. "Is… is that okay?"

A hint of a smile played across Lightning's lips, not the cold, almost cruel smile that Serah had seen before, but a real smile, small and genuine. It was like watching the sunshine emerge from behind a bank of storm-tossed clouds. Something in Serah's chest tightened. It seemed wrong somehow that Lightning should smile like that so rarely.

"No," Lightning said, and her eyes caught and held Serah's for one endless moment. "It is fine."

The rest of the journey passed in a warm silence. Serah didn't understand what was so important about a name, but she was glad to have improved Lightning's mood. But as they drew closer to the town, Serah felt some of that warmth begin to fade. Midgar was not a pleasant place. Her father had never liked it much, but it was the closest major town to their village.

Midgar looked and felt nothing like her village. It was a place of cold, grey stone, a place weary from centuries of toil and struggle. The buildings were squat, ugly things, built thickly to stand against the wind and weather. Grime seemed to cling to everything, and the air was thick with the smoke from hundreds of chimneys. Midgar might be a town with many craftsmen, but there was no craftsmanship to their work, only a bone-deep tiredness.

But the buildings were not what Serah disliked the most about the place. No, it was the feel of the place. Even after the attack, her village had carried a warmth about it. People greeted one another as they passed, and each house was filled with chatter and the promise of another day filled with not only with toil, but joy as well. Joy from family, joy from a hard day's work done well. Honest joy, simple joy.

There was none of that in Midgar. Here, the streets teemed with people, but for the most part they were silent, given only to a brooding sort of conversation. The townsfolk's eyes were drawn to the flash of coin more quickly than to a smile, and the houses she and Lightning passed were filled with hollow eyes staring back from behind locked windows.

And then there were the children. To Serah, the thought of even a single abandoned child was horrible. In her village, such a thing would never have been tolerated. Each child was precious, and any orphans were swiftly taken in by other members of the village. But here, the back alleys and crowded thoroughfares crawled with children either abandoned or orphaned. They scavenged a living as best they could, either stealing or begging for alms. The townsfolk pretended not to see these children, their eyes fixed sternly forward. No wonder her father had despised this place so much – him and her mother had tried for years to have children, and even then they had only managed to have Serah. All of this made Serah wonder just what awaited her in Eden. True, the poets and storytellers spoke of its beauty, but they could just as easily be telling tall tales to hide the truth.

"The poor," Lightning murmured as a child came up to their wagon with hands extended for alms. The goddess's eyes shimmered with some impossibly great sadness, and Serah pressed a gil into the child's palms and then waved them away. "How can there still be so many of them?"

"What do you mean?" Serah asked.

Lightning looked at the sea of people around them, the small figures of the children jostled about like leaves in the wind. "There was a time when the gods sought to make a paradise, a place where the worthy and the righteous could live free from the suffering of mortal life." Her lips curled. "It was a foolish dream at best, but in truth, it became something even worse. It became a lie." A strange sort of weariness crept into her features before it was gone, replaced by the usual stern resolve. "But even if it had been real, I wonder how much it would have cost. Look at this place. This is no way for people to live. I would not keep an animal in such squalor, never mind a child." Her eyes darkened ominously. "How can men have learned so little?"

Serah sensed the danger in that gaze, so filled with fury barely leashed. "Not everyone is bad. Life… life is hard. There are so many people in towns like this that it gets easy to just stop caring about other people. People don't become neighbours here. They become strangers that live next to each other. But that doesn't make them bad. I don't really dislike them either… if I had to say, I'd say that I pitied them."

"Perhaps." Lightning's eyes flashed. "But places such as this did not exist in the old days. There were towns, yes, even cities, but they were cities of families, of clans." Her lips firmed into a thin line. "Men and women were never meant to stand alone. Tell me, how long do you wish to stay in this place?"

Serah fought back a shiver. It was easy to see how much Lightning disliked this place, and she did not want to know what Lightning would do if that dislike grew too great. If she wanted, the goddess could probably obliterate it. "No longer than I need to. I heard talk of war from some of the people we passed. If that is so, then selling our wares should be quite easy for good steel is always welcome on the battlefield." She eased the wagon farther down the crowded street. "My father had friends here. There is one in particular that will want to know of his death, and we should be able to stay with him for as long as we need to."

They continued down the street and then along several narrower streets before Serah finally drew the wagon to a stop in front of an old, but large, house. There was a tall metal fence in front of it, but unlike the houses around it, the front lawn was a lush green and there were flowers too. Serah climbed off the wagon and rapped on the metal gate.

Almost immediately, a small, scruffy looking child came from inside the house. The girl looked up at Serah with eyes that seemed too large for her face and then tugged at the tattered scarf she wore about her shoulders before she looked first to Serah and then to Lightning.

"Hello," the girl whispered.

Serah smiled. "Hello. Is Marlene or Barret here?"

The girl studied Serah more closely. "Are you a friend of Marlene's?"

Serah nodded. "Yes, I am. Can you tell her that Serah is here?"

The girl scurried back into the house, and Serah heard Lightning hop off the wagon to stand beside her. Normally, the goddess moved silently, but as of late she had taken to moving with the same amount of noise that a normal person might. It was, Serah supposed, either a concession to Serah's frayed nerves, or a means of fitting in better.

"You know these people?" Lightning asked.

"Yes," Serah replied. "My father met Barret when he was younger. In those days, before he married my mother, he travelled a little. He met Barret down at the mines that provide much of the metal that is used in this town. They became friends. Marlene is his daughter." She gestured at the house. "This place is an orphanage. They run it together."

Lightning studied the house. "They care for the abandoned children?"

"As many as they can," Serah said. "But it is difficult, thankless work."

"It is good, honest work," Lightning replied. "There should be more such places."

Serah agreed, but before she could say anything else, a happy cry drew her attention. Marlene was a pretty young woman only a few months younger than her with long brown hair tied by a pink ribbon. Marlene's warm brown eyes lit up as she looked at Serah.

"Serah!" Marlene said as she unlocked the gate and threw her arms around Serah, a gaggle of children trailing after her. "It is so good to see you. Are you well?"

Serah returned the embrace. "I am well, but…" she paused. "Can we go inside?"

Marlene heard the seriousness in her voice at once. "Of course." She waved at the wagon. "You should take your wagon inside. It isn't safe to leave it out here, and there should be enough space at the side of the house for it." Her eyes shifted to Lightning and then widened in surprise. "Are you two related?"

"I am her sister," Lightning replied smoothly "Go inside, Serah. I will handle the wagon."

As Lightning guided the wagon through the gates and over to the side of the house, Serah followed Marlene inside. The children followed them, shouting and calling for Marlene's attention until she had to shoo them away. They grumbled for a moment and then ran for the house's backyard with a ball. It was much nicer, Serah thought, seeing children acting like children as opposed to beggars or thieves.

"So," Marlene said as she guided them to a table. "What are you doing here and where is your father? Normally he would be dragging my father to a tavern by now. And what about that woman? I didn't know you had a sister." She trailed off as she saw the glitter of tears in Serah's eyes. "Serah… what has happened?"

Serah told Marlene what had happened to her village and her parents, and by the time she had finished, the normally cheerful woman was pale and speechless.

"Serah," Marlene whispered as she reached across the table to hold Serah's hand. "I'm sorry. If you need somewhere to stay…"

"Thank you for offering." Serah wiped a stray tear from her eye. It was reassuring to see that Marlene had not hesitated for a moment, even though the orphanage had to be struggling to make ends meet. "But I am just passing through. I hope to study in Eden. However, I would appreciate a room for a few days until I can sell the last things that my father made."

"You have one," Marlene said.

"Thank you." Serah smiled weakly. "But enough about me, how have things been here, Marlene?"

The other woman sighed deeply and Serah saw more than a hint of tiredness in her gaze. "Father works very hard to keep things going. In a town like this, there is a great deal of work for a former miner and soldier, dangerous work. I wish he would stop, but we can't leave now, and with his past, there isn't much else that he can do. I'd work myself, but I already have my hands full with the children."

"Things are tough then." Serah nodded. "It would be only fair if I paid for the lodgings that you provide."

"You don't have to do that Serah," Marlene said. "We are friends."

"Even so." Serah looked away. Lightning still hadn't appeared and she wondered what was keeping the goddess. "It's just… I'm not alone, so I should be able to manage, even if things get tough. You have to worry about not just yourself and your father, but the children as well."

Marlene's cheeks flushed. "You give me too much credit, but I am simply doing what is right. It may not be easy, but these children should not be left on the street." She glanced toward the door. "Still, I wasn't aware that you had a sister, Serah."

"Oh." Serah almost winced. Of course Marlene would notice that. "It's just that my family does not speak of her much. She left when I was still young, but she came back after hearing about what happened." She saw the flash of anger in Marlene's eyes – to the other woman, someone who abandoned their family was a traitor of the worst sort. "Please, don't be angry with her, Marlene. She… she had her reasons for leaving, and she has agreed to stay and look after me in Eden."

Marlene's eyes remained troubled. "I suppose." She stood. "Shall I show you to your room?"

"Not yet." Serah smiled. "I would like to have a look around first. If I recall, you were building a chicken coop in the backyard the last time that I was here."

"Ah, yes." Marlene grinned. "We've finished it. The chickens provide us with eggs and the children seem quite happy to care for them." Several happy cries came from the direction of the backyard. "Perhaps that is where your sister is, after all, it shouldn't have taken her that long to handle the wagon."

Serah followed Marlene through the house to the backyard. Although the house was old, with worn floors and creaky stairs, it was well kept. An air of warmth hung over the place, and they emerged into the backyard to find the children clustered around the chicken coop. It was feeding time apparently. Lightning stood in the shadows of a weathered apple tree, her eyes on the children. A few of the children turned to stare at her, but none had the courage to approach.

Marlene frowned faintly. "Normally, the children would be climbing all over her for attention. But she seems different, not the sort of person you would touch without asking first."

Serah nodded. "I know what you mean."

"The children are happy here," Lightning said when they drew near. Her eyes never left the children as one of the chickens escaped and they gave chase. "And that is as it should be."

"Do you have children?" Marlene asked.

"No." Lightning's cool gaze softened for a moment. "But a child should know joy. This town feels wrong."

"Yes," Marlene agreed. "It does. But the only way to make it right is to do something. This place isn't much, but it's something. People say that the gods have abandoned us, but that doesn't mean that we have to abandon each other."

Serah watched Lightning carefully for any sign of displeasure but found none.

Lightning looked at the sky. "Perhaps the gods are gone. Perhaps they've been gone for a long time and those that remain are only a shadow of who they were."

Marlene chuckled. "Gone? The gods were immortal, or so the tales say. They are not gone, they simply no longer listen."

"Immortal?" Lightning seemed almost amused. "If only that were true." She looked at Serah. "Will we be staying here?"

Serah nodded. "Marlene has kindly offered us a room." She glanced warily at Marlene. She should probably say something before Lightning had a chance to say anything else strange. "Can you show us to our room now?"

Marlene showed them to their room. It was on the upper floor and it had two beds. Serah had stayed there before with her mother and father, and although there was a twinge of sorrow at being there without her parents, it brought a strange sort of comfort as well. Some things, like real friendship, lasted even under the worst of circumstances.

"I should watch how I speak," Lightning said. "I unsettled her."

Serah shrugged. "You did well, I think, but perhaps it might be best to steer clear of talk about the gods."

Lightning looked down at her hands. "Tell me, Serah, why do your people believe that the gods abandoned them?"

"Cocoon was paradise, a perfect world without sin. But then we were cast out and Cocoon was destroyed. Since that time, the gods have refused to hear our prayers." She sighed. "That is what everyone says."

There was a flash of bitterness in Lightning's gaze. "So that is what people believe. Cocoon, Serah, was no paradise. It was a lie." Her gaze hardened. "And the gods did not abandon you. Remember what I told you. Even a god can be killed. I, of all gods, should know that."

Serah quivered. The divine power that had slumbered in Lightning for most of their trip had awakened once again. "What do you mean?"

Lightning shook her head "One day, I will tell you, but not yet." She moved to the window as a commotion came from the front of the house. Serah followed her to the window and then smiled.

It was Barret. The big, dark-skinned man barely managed to get through the gate before some of the children mobbed him. He went down in a tangle of limbs, laughing as the children tugged at his arms and legs. With a good-natured growl, he lurched toward the house, a child on each limb.

"Come on," Serah said. "We should go say hello."

X X X

Dinner was served not long after Barret's arrival. It was a little earlier than Serah was used to, but she wasn't about to complain. After all, Marlene was a wonderful cook. They ate with the children, and the large dining room was awash with cheerful chatter. Once the children had finished, Barret sent them to do some chores as the talk moved on to more serious things.

Once again, Serah laid out her story. Barret's face darkened as she spoke, but his anger was quick to leave in place of sympathy. He and her father had been fine friends, though they had surprisingly little in common.

"I am sorry for your loss," Barret said. He folded his heavily muscled arms across his chest and shook his head. "Your father deserved better. He deserved to die an old man in a warm bed with plenty of grandchildren to mourn him. But people rarely get what they deserve these days." He chuckled bitterly. "But you needn't worry about selling your swords."

"Another war," Serah murmured. "Or so I've heard."

"More than just another war," Barret replied. "They say that the High Council wants to end things. They have ordered the army to march on Oerba. They wish to strike a blow at the very heart of the clans." He made a disgusted sound and drained his mug of ale in a single gulp, prompting a disapproving look from Marlene. "They are fools. We lack the men for such a thing, and even if by some miracle we take Oerba, we could never hold it. The clans rarely fight as one, but they will never ignore such an attack. As it is, we have enough trouble merely holding our borders."

"Cam down, father," Marlene said mildly. "There is nothing we can do about it. For now, we should worry about what we can do. How was work?"

Barret scowled. "This town is full of liars and thieves – I have my work cut out for me. Still, someone has to deal with them and if I'm going to get my hands dirty, then at least it is for you and the children."

"Don't talk like that, father," Marlene said. "You are a good man."

Barret chuckled. "I am a decent one at best." His gaze fell on Lightning as heavily as a storm. "And you, no one ever told me anything about you."

"My family and I had our disagreements," Lightning replied calmly, and Serah was infinitely glad that she'd had the time to tell Lightning the story she'd concocted. "I only regret that I was not there to protect them. Serah should not have lost her – our – parents. But I am here now. No further harm shall come to her."

Barret glared across the table and Serah shot Marlene a worried look. Barret had a good heart, but though his temper never lasted long, it could be fiery indeed. "Is that so? You have the look of a soldier about you. Tell me, girl, what fighting have you done? And that sword at your side, can you use it?" He reached for an apple and took a bite out of it. "Well?"

Lightning's reply came not in the words but in the deadly hiss of steel. In a single moment of blinding speed, her sword came free. A split-second later, the apple tumbled out of Barret's hands, sliced cleanly in two. "I am not without some skill."

Barret's eyes widened and then he began to laugh. His shoulders shook and he pounded the table before he reached for the two halves of the apple. "Not without some skill?" He looked at Serah. "Your father was a passable swordsman in his day, but your sister is something else. It reassures me to know that she will be by your side." He gave Lightning a thoughtful look. "You know, you could make a lot of money as a sword for hire."

Lightning shook her head. "My sword cannot be bought."

"Fair enough." Barret took a bite of his apple. "But you might wish to show those skills when you sell your swords. People are always attracted to a show and I wager you could put on a good one. It might drive the price up a little too."

"I shall consider it," Lightning said before Serah could stop her. The last thing Serah wanted was to have Lightning perform like she was part of a circus. "Tell me, why did you start this place? Why help the children when no one else does?"

Barret chuckled. "I like you. You get straight to the point." He glanced at Marlene who gave him a small nod. "I could tell you that I do it because it is right, but that's Marlene's reason, not mine." He reached over to pat Marlene's hand. "You must have noticed – Marlene and I look nothing alike. She is the daughter of my heart and I love her more than my own life, but she is not my own flesh and blood. Her father was a close friend of mine and when misfortune took him, there was no one else to take care of her, so I took her in. When I saw the children here, I could not help but see Marlene in each of them. If I had not taken her in, perhaps she might have shared their fate. That is why I started this place. At first, there were others who helped us, but as times grew tough, it became harder and harder to afford help. Now, Marlene watches the children while I work."

Lightning's eyes flicked first to Marlene and then back to Barret. "You have good reasons."

Barret laughed. "I like to think so." He stood and stretched. "I have an early start tomorrow. Feel free to do as you wish." He looked at Marlene. "I am going to bed. Can you make sure that the children finish their chores?"

X X X

It was just after midnight when the storm came. It swept in from the west, carried upon a thick bank of black clouds that blotted the moon from the sky. The windows of Serah and Lightning's room shook as the first great peals of thunder rang out, the squat, stocky shapes of the buildings outside lit by the flash of lightning.

Lightning was pleased to see that the storm hardly seemed to bother Serah, who slept soundly even as it grew louder. It called out to Lightning, made the blood in her veins sing. She was still only a shadow of herself, but each day she felt some more of her strength return. The storm outside would only aid in that restoration.

Silently, she opened the window and then rose up into the storm-tossed sky. The rain lashed the air around her, but even with her diminished strength, it dared not sully her clothing. But the wind, ever defiant – as its mistress was – still had the audacity to toss her hair back and forth, and in truth, she was loath to shrug off its touch.

Higher she rose, up through the rain and the wind, until she was amongst the clouds. Thunder rocked the sky on all sides, and the jagged flash of lightning raced from horizon to horizon. Here, in the heart of the storm, she felt whole in a way she so rarely did. It was easy to lose herself to the wrath and fury of the storm, to become her namesake.

She lifted one hand and all the lightning in the sky raced toward her in great glowing ladders that sundered the clouds and turned the rain into steam. It filled her with strength, with power, and she called for more and more of it until her whole body was sheathed in electricity. Finally, she let her grip on it slip as the storm ebbed for a moment, before it began to once again build into a roaring tumult of raw force.

It would be easy, she thought, so very easy to take some small measure of that force and turn it on the town below her. The place filled her with loathing. At first glance, the town teemed with life, but in truth it was little more than a corpse. Whatever soul there had been to the place was long dead, and only a shadow of it remained in the hollow eyes of its inhabitants and the empty, fake smiles of the children begging for charity.

If the High Mother could have seen what her sacrifice had wrought, she would have been horrified. But despite her faults – and Lightning knew all too well how flawed the High Mother was – she had always loved mankind, perhaps too much. Only Fang had ever loved them more, and the other goddess was not something Lightning wanted to think about. Not yet.

Still, not all of the mortals were unworthy of the sacrifices that had been made to ensure their survival. People like Serah, Marlene, and Barret gave her hope. Even their anger at the gods did not displease her, for how could she blame them? They did not know the truth, and even if she told them, she doubted they would believe. Cocoon had fallen ages ago and what little memory of it remained had likely become garbled over countless generations. And in a way they were right. The gods, or rather, some of the gods, had turned Cocoon into a thing of absolute evil. It had gone from the home of the gods to a place worthy only of absolute and total extirpation.

Lightning shook her head. The memories were still too fresh. To others, they had happened ages ago, but to her it had been only yesterday. Cocoon had fallen and she had awakened to a world that no longer had a place for her. The age of the gods had passed, and even those that remained seemed content to ignore the plight of those who claimed to be survivors of Cocoon. Or perhaps they had no choice. Here, the people's hearts were hardened to the gods. Even if the gods spoke to them, she doubted they would be able to hear.

But her awakening could not have been accidental. Something had reached out to her, had pulled her back from the cusp of eternity. She had a purpose here, she was sure of it. She would find that purpose, but for now her main concern was her chosen.

Serah.

The name alone filled her with a mix of emotions, many of which she had not felt for quite some time. She knew that despite the name, the Serah she was with was not her Serah, not the Serah that dwelt in the memories of an age long gone. Yet the cycle turned and the wheels of fate moved ever onward. This was not her Serah, but in a way she was. Her jaw clenched and all around her, the clouds rippled with lightning. It was foolishness to linger in the past. The past was gone, dead. Serah, this Serah, was still alive and she would see to it that she remained that way.

Still, there was something else that bothered her. The town's wrongness was easy to see in its inhabitants, but there was a shadow over the place as well. It felt almost like the power of the High Father, but that was impossible. The High Father was dead. She had seen him fall with her own eyes. She scowled. If the High Father were still alive, then certain steps would need to be taken. If not, then she was simply worried over nothing.

Eyes narrowed, Lightning glanced down at the town again. Electricity crackled along her fingertips and she saw the whole place evaporate in a maelstrom of thunder and lightning – but the image was only in her mind. It was not her task to pass judgement over mortals. Her duty had been to punish the gods who broke divine law. Whatever problems the mortals had created were for them to solve. It was cold, callous even, but it was the truth. Besides, there were still others that she needed to speak to.

She could still feel some of the other gods, such as the one that ruled the forest to the north. That forest lay under the edge of the storm front, but even at a distance, it was easy to feel the other's power. No longer was the other a fledgling goddess. Instead, the other was a goddess in her prime. But that could wait, at least of a while.

Lightning floated back down to the house and climbed through the window. She stopped just short of her bed as she felt eyes upon her back. When she turned, Serah was there, staring at her in the near-darkness with an expression somewhere between worry and curiosity.

"It is late," Lightning murmured. "You should rest."

"I dreamed," Serah murmured. "It was not pleasant." She tilted her head to one side. "Will you sleep now?"

Lightning's lips thinned. "I do not need to."

Serah nodded slowly and then spoke again, voice so very soft. "Then could you sit with me, at least, until I fall asleep?"

Lightning pulled off her boots and cloak and sat at the edge of Serah's bed. This was weakness, but just for a while, she would let herself indulge in it, let herself pretend that this was her Serah.

Serah blinked sleepily and closed her eyes. "You were up there, weren't you? How did it feel?"

"Alive." Lightning watched the lightning flash beyond the windowpane, watched that same light play across Serah's face and had to struggle to keep her hands at her sides. "Perhaps one day I will take you up there with me."

Serah yawned and snuggled deeper into her pillow. "I think I would like that."

X X X

The next day arrived far more swiftly than Serah could have imagined. Her dreams the previous night had been strange. Not unpleasant, but strange, and filled with images that could almost have been memories. Yet when she tried to reflect more deeply on them, they fled, like darkness of an old library before candlelight. Perhaps it was all a product of Lightning's presence. The goddess already affected her waking moments. It was not impossible that she had begun to affect her dreams as well. And that look on the goddess's face just before Serah had fallen asleep again – she had never imagined that the goddess could show such tenderness. In that moment, she had seemed almost fragile.

Lightning was no longer in their room, but when she went downstairs, Lightning was already there helping Marlene with the children. It was a strange sight, for she had not expected Lightning to know what to do with children, but all the same, the goddess handled herself very well indeed. Serah watched as Lightning herded the children to the table and stood sentry over them as they ate. For their part, the children seemed to sense that Lightning would brook no disobedience, for they ate with utmost politeness.

"Can I keep her?" Marlene begged with a laugh as Serah sat beside her at the table. Breakfast was bread and fresh fruit. "This is the quietest breakfast I have had in years."

Serah grinned. "No, you may not keep her." She looked around. "Where is your father?"

Marlene sighed. "He had to leave early today for one of his jobs. Some of the local… toughs have been giving the fruit-sellers difficulty lately. He is going to make sure that it stops."

"I see." Serah glanced across the table at Lightning. The goddess had yet to touch her food, and she felt a smile tug at her lips as Lightning surreptitiously offered her plate to the children beside her. "I think it would be best if we left for the day too." She reached into her pockets. "Ah, here it is." Her father had purchased a permit to sell his wares in town on his last trip. They were costly to obtain and lasted only for a set period, but luckily it was still valid. "I think after breakfast would be best, Claire. Will you be ready?"

Lightning shrugged. "I am ready now."

Serah ate swiftly and then she and Lightning headed for the marketplace in their wagon. Even though it was only mid-morning, it was already crowded. It made Serah feel a little ill to be in the midst of so many people, but she forced herself to press on. At least she had the wagon otherwise she would have had to push through the crowd on foot.

The permit entitled them to a decent spot and she was quick to guide the wagon there. They were nestled in amongst several other craftsmen, but she was a little disappointed to see a few other weapons sellers nearby. Most likely, they had come after hearing rumours of the war. Their presence could easily drive the price down, although not if demand still exceeded supply. After all, even if the army had enough weapons, there were would still be mercenaries in search of arms.

However, as the first hour passed, business was very poor indeed. People seemed to have little interest in buying weapons from two women, although Lightning clearly had the appearance of someone who could use a blade.

"This is not working," Lightning said.

"I know." Serah sighed and folded her hands in her lap. "My father was much better at this. He was always good at attracting passersby, and many here knew him by sight. I, however, am not well known, and I haven't even a fraction of his flair." Indeed, her few attempts to attract attention had been quite embarrassing. One potential customer had even confused her with a prostitute before Lightning's glare had driven him off.

"We need to draw attention, do we not?" Lightning asked. Serah nodded slowly. "Then I shall gather attention." She reached for her blade. "How much money do you have now?"

Serah frowned. "About three hundred gil."

"Give it to me," Lightning said. A faint smile crossed her lips. "I remember a trick that a… friend once used when she needed money to walk amongst mortals." She raised her voice and shouted, "Three hundred gil for whoever can land a single blow on me. Five gil to try."

Lightning's words drew a crowd almost immediately and it wasn't long before the first eager challenger stepped forward.

"What are you doing?" Serah whispered.

Lightning shrugged. "People will come to see the fight and they will see your swords as well. Besides, do you really think that any of them will be able to hit me?" There was no arrogance in the words, simply a statement of fact.

The first challenger was a burly man, a season mercenary from the grizzled look about him. He handed the five gil over and then sized Lightning up with a gaze that was at once appreciative and wary.

"It's three hundred gil, right?"

Lightning nodded. "If you can land a hit." She raised her voice so that the crowd could hear. "But I doubt you can. It is one of my sister's swords that I carry, and their quality is finer than anything you can find elsewhere." She lifted her sword. "Are you ready?"

The fight did not last long. The man attacked in a blur of motion, but Lightning was always just out of his reach. To Serah it was obvious that she was holding back, but to everyone else the fight seemed nail-bitingly close as Lightning dodged each attack by a hair's breadth. Finally, as the mercenary lifted his sword for one more strike, Lightning's sword snaked up and around his and twisted it out of his hand in a shower of sparks. The mercenary stared from the battered edge of his weapon to the still pristine edge of Lightning's.

"It seems you shall be needing a new sword," Lightning murmured.

Serah pressed her hands to her mouth to hold back her laughter, though there were others in the crowd who made no such attempt at politeness. Slowly, the mercenary nodded.

"How much for a sword like yours?" he asked.

Serah grinned. "One hundred gil, and I guarantee that it will be the finest sword you'll ever own."

The man chuckled. "If it's even half as good as the one she's using, then it will be," he said, pointing to Lightning.

Serah let him handle a few of the swords and was pleased to see his eyes widen at their quality. She knew they were good, and now he did too. Each was evenly balance with a keen, deadly edge. The mercenary chose one and handed over his money.

"Your sister is quite a swordsman, is she looking for work?" he asked.

Lightning interceded. "My place is with my sister."

The mercenary took his new sword. "Fair enough. You should get back to the crowd now. You have another challenger." He grinned. "Somehow, I get the feeling that you were holding back."

Challenger after challenger came forward, but not a single one of them managed to land a blow, and Lightning had yet to even break a sweat, although Serah didn't even know if the goddess could sweat. Several of the challengers bought swords, along with a few others in the crowd, and combined with the money they'd taken from the challengers, Serah was pleased to note that their meagre funds were no longer quite so meagre.

As the afternoon wore on, however, fewer challengers came and they still had more than a few swords to sell. Serah was about to call a stop for the day when one final challenger came forward. As she laid eyes upon him, Serah felt her heart flutter. This newest challenger was clearly a soldier, most likely a captain or some kind of officer from the insignia he wore, but that wasn't what drew her attention. He was, quite possibly, the tallest man that she had ever seen. He was powerfully built too, with broad shoulders, and muscled limbs, the kind that could only be obtained through years of hard work. Beneath the helmet that he wore, his hair was a fine blonde, and his eyes were the bluest that she had ever seen.

"I would like to challenge…" he began, and his voice, she thought, was so very much warmer than any that she heard before. He trailed off as his eyes slipped past Lightning and met hers and she felt a flush sweep across her cheeks at his blatant stare. "I… have we met?" he all but stuttered.

Serah suddenly found the side of the wagon very interesting indeed. "I… uh, no, I don't think so."

The soldier chuckled and it was a warm sound, a friendly sound. "No, of course not. I would have remembered if I'd met someone as pretty as you." He grinned. "Indeed, you are far prettier than just about any sword maker that I've ever met."

Serah found herself smiling. "I am not a sword maker. My father was but…" she sighed.

He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "My apologies. It seems I've upset you." He glanced back at Lightning. "Some of my men have seen you fight. They say that you're by far the best they've ever seen with a sword. Wagers aside, I'm interested to see how I measure up." He smiled at Serah. "I'm also keen to see if your blades are as good as some have said."

Serah had expected Lightning to give the soldier the same cool look as she'd given everyone else, but that was not the case. Instead, for just a moment, the look in Lightning's eyes had been positively murderous. Then the expression was gone, so quickly that Serah wondered if it had even been there at all. Her hands trembled. It was almost like Lightning hated the soldier, but that couldn't be right. She'd only just met him.

"Draw your sword," Lightning whispered coldly.

The soldier's big frame flinched almost as though he'd been struck. From off his back, he drew a sword and shield that were sized to fit him, each so big that Serah doubted she could have lifted them.

"My name is Snow," the soldier said. "What is yours?"

"Claire," Lightning replied. He moved to put his shield aside, but Lightning shook her head. "Keep it. You will need it."

Serah watched Snow's eyes narrow as he tried, and failed, to get some estimate of Lightning's ability. A chill crawled down her spine. The casual grace was gone from Lightning's movements. Now, she moved like a predator before its prey. Some measure of her divine fury had begun to fill the air, but somehow, Snow managed to stand his ground.

And then Lightning moved. With a speed at the very limits of human capacity, the goddess raced forward and brought her sword down at Snow. The soldier reacted almost as quickly, and sparks flew as Lightning's blade clattered off his shield. Despite the difference in size between them, Snow actually staggered beneath the weight of the blow. But he gathered himself quickly, and shoved Lightning back with his shield as he brought his sword around in a slash aimed at her middle. Lightning ghosted away from the attack and then lashed out again with a pair of strikes that sang like peals of thunder when they all but knocked Snow's sword from his hands.

By the wagon, Serah struggled to understand the sudden change. What was Lightning doing? They would be in unbelievable trouble if she harmed a soldier. Then, as impossible as it seemed, Lightning managed to twist Snow's shield up and off his arm. He struck back with his own weapon, but Lightning's blade swept up to knock the strike aside before it came to a rest against the base of Snow's throat. Dimly, Serah was aware of several soldiers in the crowd reaching for their swords.

However, the tension was broken when Snow began to laugh. Gently, he pushed Lightning's blade aside and extended one big hand. "You fight like the gods of old," he said with a bemused shake of his head. "I've never fought someone so strong or fast. It is a pity you are not with the army. I'd wager that we could win the war with just ten of you." He glanced back at his men. "Stand down, you fools. There is no harm done, and I am no sore loser." He handed over five gil. "It seems that the rumours about your skill were right. Perhaps I could see if the rumours about the swords were right as well?"

Serah was keenly aware of Snow's presence as he examined each of the swords they had left. He asked several questions about their quality, but she found herself only half able to answer them. His presence seemed to fill the air between them, and she had to keep herself from staring. The same could be said of him as well, as his eyes flicked from her to the swords, not leering as some many did, but puzzled and intrigued and definitely glad. She felt like she knew him, did he also feel the same?

"I will take all of them," Snow said at last.

"That is a lot of money," Serah said.

"The army needs every sword that it can muster, and few are of this quality." Snow sighed. "It is a shame that I must leave tomorrow with my men. I would have liked to have met the sword smith."

"You cannot," Serah replied. "My father is dead."

"I am sorry." Snow inclined his head. "I just realised, I never asked your name."

"Serah," she murmured.

"Serah." He seemed to like the sound of it on his lips for his smile was wide and sunny. "Well, thank you for the swords, Serah. On the battlefield, a good sword can be the difference between life and death. In all honesty, we shall need all of our strength for this war. If I thought the gods might listen, I might even be tempted to pray." He caught her gaze again. "Forgive me for staring… I just feel like I have met you somewhere before."

She flushed, but made no move to break their shared gaze. "It… it is all right. I feel the same."

He sighed as several of his men waved toward him. "It seems my time here is at an end. There are still many preparations to be made. Do you live here?"

She shook her head, unsure of why she was telling him. "No, I am travelling to Eden. I hope to stay with the Estheims."

"The Estheims?" His eyes widened. "Do you mean the family of the architect Bartholomew Estheim?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. My father once helped him when he and his family were attacked near our village. I hope to have his aid in certain matters."

"I wager that you shall receive it – Bartholomew Estheim is known to be an honourable man." He gave her a roguish grin. "I shall look for you there when I return from the war – hopefully a hero."

Serah watched Snow and his men leave with the swords. Only when he was out of sight, did she turn her eyes back to Lightning. When she did, she felt almost physically ill. There was a look of almost absolute desolation in the goddess's eyes, as though she'd seen her very worst fears given form and substance. But what could a goddess fear? Then the expression was gone, and Lightning's eyes were once more inscrutable pools of blue.

"What is wrong?" Serah asked softly. "Have I… have I done something wrong?"

Lightning shook her head, but her tone held the faintest trace of bitterness as she spoke. "That man. You feel as though you know him, as though you could tell him anything in the world and he would understand. You feel as though you will surely meet him again."

Serah's eyes widened. "Are you reading my mind?"

"I do not have to," Lightning said. "It was exactly this way the last time."

"What?" Serah gasped. "What do you mean?"

Lightning shook her head. "Forget I said anything. It is not important." She looked into the wagon. "We have sold all of the things that you brought, and it would seem as though they have sold at quite a fine price. What now?"

Serah gave the goddess a worried look. "We still need to buy some more supplies and other things for the rest of our journey. However, I want to go back to the orphanage first. Carrying this much money worries me."

Lightning's gaze hardened. "You are safe with me."

X X X

They spent the rest of that day at the orphanage helping Marlene with the children. Lightning even helped fix a hole in the roof, although Serah had no idea how she had come upon such knowledge. The next day, they spent most of their time at the marketplace purchasing the supplies they would need for the rest of their trip.

On the morning of the day after that, the time had come to leave. Serah had originally planned to stay in town for longer, but she hadn't anticipated selling all of their wares so easily. Lightning, it seemed, had saved her once again. She also hadn't anticipated the sheer dislike that Lightning seemed to have for Midgar either.

Before they left, Serah was also careful to leave some gil in Marlene's room. She knew that the other woman would never accept it from her, so she decided not to give her any choice in the matter. That afternoon, Marlene would look for a change of clothes and find quite a tidy sum in the pockets of her favourite dress.

As Serah and Lightning left Midgar behind them and headed north, Serah wondered which path they would take.

"There is a path to the east that can take us to Eden," Serah murmured. "It is a fair distance but…"

"Eden is to the north, is it not?" Lightning's voice had slowly begun to regain some of its warmth, though some hint of shadow remained in her gaze. "We should go directly north. It will be quicker."

Serah shivered. "To the north if the Forest of Ancients. It is very, very dangerous." She had never been there herself, but the stories were legendary. A great spirit was supposed to live there, a heathen goddess worshipped by the natives of Pulse. Entire armies had marched on the Forest of Ancients in the name of Cocoon only to vanish.

"Not for us." Lightning's lips thinned. "And there is someone there with whom I wish to speak."

Serah's eyes widened. "But who?" She paused. "Wait… do you mean… the goddess of the forest? The stories say that she is a horrible bloodthirsty creature. Those who harm her forest are subjected to the worst tortures, the vilest horrors…"

Lightning put one hand on her shoulder, and Serah felt a wave of calm sweep through her. "You have nothing to fear when I am with you, and I must speak with her. There are things that must be said, words that must be exchanged."

Slowly, tentatively, Serah nodded. She had trusted Lightning this far, and so she would trust her again. Yet as the hours passed and they caught sight of the Forest of Ancients on the horizon, she could not stop herself from pressing close to the goddess. To her surprise, Lightning made no move to stop her. Instead, one strong arm gathered her to Lightning's side.

Even at a distance, the Forest of Ancients was an imposing sight. It was a place of great, towering trees that seemed to reach for the very sky. There was air of oldness about it, a sense that it was a place out of some distant time. However, Lightning did not seem worried, indeed, a small smile even crossed their face as they passed a bush of blue roses.

"It seems," Lightning murmured. "That her taste in roses is still the same."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> So, here's another chapter. I wanted to get back to Serah and Lightning since it's been a while and this seemed like a nice way to do it. Don't worry though. We will be going back to Vanille and her new dragon later. I wouldn't deprive you all of the joy of seeing Vanille try to deal with a dragon on top of everything else. Dragons were made to fly, but the same cannot necessarily be said of people.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter reveals a bit more about Lightning's past, albeit in less direct terms than Fang's chapter did. It also raises a lot of questions. I also wanted to try and get across the changing relationship between Serah and Lightning. Despite her initial awe of the goddess, Serah has been spending a lot of time with her. It is only natural that she starts to act a little more normally around her.
> 
> As for Midgar itself… I sort of modelled that on Midgar both before and after the fall of Meteor. I wanted a big contrast with the more idyllic life of Serah's village and it seemed like an appropriate place to use for that. I was also inspired by the work of T. S. Elliot who remains one of my favourite poets. Some of his stuff is just dynamite, and the often dystopian way he views modern society seemed a good fit for what was wrong with Midgar.
> 
> The other major event in this chapter is the appearance of Snow. Hurrah! Some of you were probably worried that he wouldn't be appearing, but never fear, here he is. And in what has to be a sort of cosmic joke, he and Lightning don't exactly hit it off in this universe either. Honestly, do they ever? That said, there is a reason for that, although it may be a while until you find out what that is.
> 
> Finally, this is one of the few chapters (maybe the only chapter) for which the final version was shorter than the draft. As a side note, for those of you who weren't aware, Marlene and Barret are from Final Fantasy VII. Go Marlene! She really needs more screen time.
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	8. The Sheath

**The Sheath**

The silver haired god looked up at the night sky. Only a few moments ago, the sky had been clear, the moon shining low and large over the lonely, wind-swept hills. But now the moon was gone, hidden behind a curtain of dark clouds. A light drizzle had begun to fall, and the echo of distant thunder rumbled through the air.

"So they are sending her." Yazoo's lips curled faintly. "Should we prepare?"

On the other side of the campfire, Kadaj chuckled and shook his head. "There is no need. She is only one and there are three of us." He lifted one hand and tongues of orange flame rose from the campfire to swirl around his fingers. "Our mother has blessed us with her strength. There is no way that we can lose."

"But what about our mission?" Loz, the largest of the three silver haired gods made a face. "Mother will be angry. We were supposed to bring back the young goddess, but we failed."

"She will be angry perhaps, for a time." Kadaj gave his brother a pat on the back. "But her anger will pass. Our mother is wise. She knows that we will get another chance, and she knows that we will not fail her a second time." He laughed. "And besides, when she hears that we have slain the Sword of Heaven, perhaps she might even reward us."

Loz's green eyes widened almost comically and his big frame shook with excitement. "What kind of reward, brother?"

"A fine one, no doubt." Kadaj smirked. "For our mother is as generous as she is powerful."

Yazoo glanced back at the sky. The rain had begun to fall in great, pounding sheets, and the flash of lightning lit the night. "She is coming." He stood and drew one of his daggers. Like most weapons of divine origin, the weapon gave off a faint glow. For him, that glow was a putrid green, like rotting vegetation. "Get ready."

And then the sky above them tore as a single bolt of white-hot lightning sizzled down to strike the ground at the edge of their camp.

X X X

Lightning stood slowly. Rock that had been melted into glass by the fury of her arrival cracked beneath her boots.

"What business do you have with us, dog of the High Mother?"

Little tendrils of steam rose from where the rain struck the smouldering rock around her. Almost lazily, her gaze drifted to the three gods that stood beside the remains of a campfire. They were brothers, all of them with the green eyes and silver hair common to the sons and daughters of the Fallen Goddess, Jenova. Their names, the High Mother had told her, were Kadaj, Yazoo, and Loz.

Her business with them was no small thing. They had sinned against the High Mother herself, and for that there could be no forgiveness. There could only be punishment, and she had come to mete out that punishment.

"Two nights ago, you sought to take the goddess, Aerith, from Cocoon." Lightning stepped forward and the air around her grew heavy with the weight of her power. Already, small arcs of electricity had begun to flicker over her crystal armour, and above her, the maelstrom in the sky grew stronger. "You failed. But four gods fell in her defence, along with a host of her attendants. You have broken the sacred laws of Cocoon, but more than that, you have defied the express wishes of the High Mother." Her eyes narrowed. "I have come to deliver your punishment."

The god closest to her, the one named Kadaj, tossed his head back and laughed. "And what would that punishment be?" He snarled. "Will you drag us back in chains? Or perhaps it is torture that the Higher Mother demands." He made a disgusted sound. "Save your threats. The High Mother has grown weak. Her kindness and compassion blind her. Only our mother deserves to stand on the throne of heaven, only our mother deserves to wield the power inside Aerith."

For a long moment, Lightning said nothing. To insult the High Mother in such a fashion was a crime in and of itself, but there was no punishment in existence greater than the one she had been ordered to carry out. Not even death could compare. True, gods could be killed, but in time they would be reborn. But the High Mother had decreed that these gods be destroyed utterly. Lightning was to destroy their very souls, to shatter that which made them who they were. To do so would be to wipe them from creation, to consign them to the ultimate oblivion. It was not a punishment that she had ever had to carry out, but the High Mother's orders were clear. These sons of Jenova had challenged her. Now, an example would be set, and none would ever be so foolish as to challenge the High Mother again.

"It is not imprisonment that you face," Lightning said. "Nor is it torture. Even death is too good for you." The ground beneath her trembled. "It is oblivion."

The three other gods stared, and for the first time, she saw uncertainty on their faces. There was fear there too, now that they understood what the stakes were. What was imprisonment to those who lived forever? What was torture, or even death to those who could be reborn? But oblivion… that was something even gods feared.

"You lie!" Kadaj hissed. "The High Mother would never order such a thing."

"I do not lie." Lightning took one slow step forward and then another. The wind kicked up spraying rain and mud, but not a single drop of it sullied her clothing. "You are fools, you and your mother. You confuse kindness with weakness, mercy with cowardice. The High Mother has indulged you thus far, for her love of her children – even those as errant as your mother – is great. But no longer."

Kadaj drew his sword. The weapon had two blades, both of them slightly curved, set closely together. "You cannot win against us. We are all gods. We are the same. And there are three of us."

"You are right, we are all gods." Lightning lifted one hand and great bolts of electricity rocked the sky and leapt to dance around her fingertips. "But we are not the same. I am Lightning, the Sword of Heaven, the Blade of the High Mother. Every strike of my sword is a hymn in praise to her name, every blow a testament to her greatness. You fight with steel, divine though it may be, but the skies themselves are my weapon, the lightning bound to my will." Her hand clenched into a fist. "You cannot win and you cannot run."

Stillness fell over the camp, broken only by the howl of the wind and the rush of the rain. The air shuddered and the ground shook. The four gods stood motionless, each waiting for the other to move. A chill wind rustled past and somewhere far away a lone bird cried out in fear, its cries all but lost in the storm.

And then they moved.

Lightning blurred forward, every bit as fast as her namesake. She reappeared in front of Yazoo and the lanky god's eyes widened in surprise. His dagger swept down toward her, but her fist was already in motion. Wreathed in lightning, her fist smashed right through the divine steel of Yazoo's blade and struck him squarely in the chest. There was a wet thump, and she felt his ribs crack and then shatter beneath the sheer force of the blow. The scent of cooked flesh filled the air before the boom of thunder rang out. He flew back, tossed aside like a ragdoll, and ripped a trench into the earth before he finally came to a rest, imbedded in the hillside behind the camp.

There was a flash of movement and she turned just in time to dodge one large fist. Loz's blow ripped a crater into the hillside and sent up a huge spray of mud and water. Lightning crackled around his arm. He growled and then surged forward again, far faster than his heavy frame should have allowed.

But as fast as Loz was, Lightning was even faster. She ducked and dove through a hail of blows, and then caught his fist in one hand. The strength behind the attack drove her back until at last her feet found purchase and sank deep into the mud. Sparks flared around his fist and then died.

"Fool!" Lightning spat as Loz's eyes widened in surprise. "You forget your place!" She raised one hand and a jagged fork of lightning tore down from the heavens. The blast caught Loz and hurled him back. A ragged scream burst from his lips as the lightning tossed him through trees and rock before he finally skidded to a halt many yards away. "I am wrought of the High Mother's own flesh, and my name is wisely chosen." Tendrils of lightning played across her body. "I am the lightning."

"You are a monster!" Kadaj growled as he moved to stand between her and his two fallen brothers. In truth, she could care less. Gods could heal from almost anything, but that took time, and the wounds she had inflicted were great.

"Monster?" Lightning glided forward. "I am not the one who tried to take a young goddess from the only home that she has ever known. I am not the one who slew her attendants and those who sought to protect her."

Kadaj pointed his sword at her. The air was suddenly hot, and the rain vanished in a haze of steam. "Burn!"

Divine flame filled the air and Lightning's whole world became fire. The ground beneath her melted and the rain around her boiled away. Even her armour began to smoulder, the fine crystal glowing as a miniature sun enveloped her. But even as her lungs caught fire, she moved. There was no point in dodging to either side – the blast was far too wide – the only option was to go forward, to strike at the very source of the attack.

Pain lanced through her as she drove forward through the flames and caught hold of Kadaj's sword. The twin blades bit through her gloves and she felt her palms catch alight, but she had him now, and as he tried to pill away, she grabbed him by his cloak and tossed him over her shoulder.

The hill shook and several trees came loose as Kadaj struck the ground with terrible force. His sword slipped from his fingers and she drove one booted heel down onto his chest. Blood spewed from his lips onto her greaves as almost every organ in his body was reduced to pulp. Weakly, he reached up to try and push her leg aside, but her response was swift and brutal. She raised one hand. The skies answered.

Lightning blasted down onto them, but only Kadaj felt the brunt of its assault. He screamed and writhed, but she held firm, pinning him until the lightning had burnt away any semblance of strength. When at last the lightning faded and a great peel of thunder rolled out, she lifted her boot. He was burned, barely recognisable, but still he lived. The toughness of a god was a terrible thing sometimes.

"Don't…" he moaned as she knelt over him with one arm raise. "Don't…"

She drove her arm forward. Her fingers speared into his chest and he gagged. A god's flesh was nothing more than a vessel for their soul. Break that vessel enough and the soul would be exposed, vulnerable. She could feel it at her fingertips, the glowing, radiant power that made him a god. He clutched at her wrist with one ruined hand, the air around them awash with the smell of burnt flesh.

"Mother!" he screamed. "Mother, help me!" But he was weak now, and she was still so very strong. "Mother!" He turned desperate eyes to her. "Please… do not do this! We were under orders!"

"From your mother, yes," Lightning growled. "I know."

Kadaj thrashed. "Not only our mother! But from the High Father as well!"

"You dare slander the High Father in such a manner?" Lightning snarled. "Liar!"

"It is no lie!" Kadaj wailed as he bucked to try and throw her off. "It is no –"

Lightning slammed him back into the ground and wrapped her hand around the very essence of his being. His soul felt like a finely made glass. She clenched her fist and the glass shattered. His soul came apart. Then she was flying back, tossed aside as a vast river of light poured from the wound in his chest. It lit his eyes, his hair, his mouth, and then shot up into the sky.

She stumbled to her feet as the light spiled outward. It enveloped her and the whole world fell away. Memories flooded through her, a storm of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches. She was lost, batted back and forth as centuries, no, millennia swept past her in a meaningless hail of sensations. There was no order to any of it, only chaos. But there was more. On the heels of his memories, jagged and broken as they were, came his emotions. She felt everything, the fear, the panic, the pain – and lastly, she felt the horror, the boundless, endless, unspeakable horror as the world went dark and everything that made him who he was fell away, lost in a darkness, an emptiness so vast, so total that there could be no word for it save oblivion.

Then he was gone.

And she was screaming.

The light faded and she staggered. High Mother… High Mother help her, she had not thought anything could be so terrible. Blindly, she stumbled back, only to trip and sprawl ungainly in the mud. She got up again and shook her head. Kadaj… he was gone… and she had felt him go, had felt the very core of his being vanish, never to return. Bile burned at the back of her throat and she looked back to where his body had been. There was nothing there now, nothing save a great patch of blighted earth.

Rain struck her, cold and wet, and she looked down at her hands. There was gore all the way up to her elbows. By all the gods… she could still feel that nothingness, that oblivion. She could feel it crawling under her skin, scratching behind her eyes.

Slowly, she forced herself to calm. There were still two more of them to deal with, and the High Mother had given her orders. She dragged in a deep breath and clenched her jaw. This was no time for weakness. Eyes narrowed, she moved to stand above Yazoo. The other god was still trying to heal. He saw her and tried to crawl away, but there was a flash of lightning and he dropped to the ground, burnt once again.

She rolled him over with one foot and in his terrified green eyes she saw her own reflection.

Monster.

X X X

Fang sighed. For all of its beauty, Cocoon had never felt like home. Most thought of it as paradise, a vast, floating jewel set in the sky by the High Mother and High Father to serve as the home of the gods. But if the gods were supposed to watch over and protect mankind, wouldn't it have made more sense for the gods to live amongst them? Instead, the gods lived here in Cocoon, above mankind in every way. It made her wonder sometimes if the love the gods had for mankind was less that of a parent for a child, and more the love a person might have for an especially well-kept pet.

Shaking her head to clear it of such thoughts – she was here to enjoy herself – Fang turned her attention back to the lesser goddess in front of her, one of many that servant as attendants on Cocoon. There was a whisper of fine silk as the lesser goddess bowed. She was a pretty thing with fine elfin features.

"Welcome home, Fang of the Heavens," the lesser goddess said, gaze carefully lowered in respect. Even amongst the gods, there were few held in such high esteem as Fang. "The High Mother awaits your presence in her throne room."

Fang rolled her eyes. She loved the High Mother, truly she did, but the other goddess could be a little… doting at times, and Fang cherished her independence. Besides, she was no young goddess in need of coddling. "Tell the High Mother that I shall see her shortly. First, however, there is someone else I would see."

The lesser goddess gasped, stunned that someone would dare to defy the High Mother. "Please, honoured goddess, the High Mother was very clear that –"

Fang reached down and tilted the lesser goddess's chin up. Honestly, it was quite aggravating to talk to someone who wouldn't look at her. The other goddess flushed and Fang had to bite back a smirk. It wasn't nice to tease, but just seeing how other gods reacted to her was just too amusing. It was almost like the lesser goddess couldn't quite believe that Fang had actually deigned to touch her. Unable to fight her smirk any longer, Fang gave the lesser goddess a gentle pat on the cheek. "The High Mother is used to my antics, and I daresay she appreciates them since it must get so boring ruling over everything up here. Still, if she is displeased, then say that I ordered you to leave me alone. As a lesser goddess, you cannot refuse such orders, so any blame should fall upon me."

The lesser goddess nodded, cheeks still flushed and then vanished, most likely to inform the High Mother of Fang's decision. Slowly, Fang's smirk became a frown. The High Mother had been content to live in understated luxury for quite some time now, yet as of late, she had become more ostentatious. The High Mother was all but omnipotent so what need did she have for things like a throne room?

Growling softly, Fang forced herself to think of other things. She had not come to Cocoon to brood. If she wanted, she could easily do that back on top of her mountain as she watched over her Yun. Apart from Aerith, there was only one person who could bring her to Cocoon – Lightning.

In all her years, Fang had met only a handful of beings that could truly challenge her in combat, and not one of them was quite so fun to spend time with as Lightning. The other goddess was truly her equal on the battlefield, and her mercurial temper made her a delight to mock and tease, though Fang was always careful not to push too far. Eternal life could get boring very quickly, but Lightning was never boring. Dangerous, definitely, and frustrating, certainly, but Fang had always liked challenges and Lightning was certainly that.

So every now and then, whenever the mood took her, Fang would visit Cocoon and do her very best to pick a fight with Lightning. Oh, she usually had some pretext – visiting Aerith or reporting to the High Mother – but her true purpose was always to drag Lightning into yet another sparring match. They would fight until they were exhausted, usually doing considerable damaged to their surroundings, and then they would part, usually after a heated exchange of threats, only some of which were meant in jest.

That wasn't to say that everyone enjoyed Fang's visits as much as she did. After one particularly destructive incident in which a temple had been levelled, the High Mother had ordered them to spar more sensibly, or at least less destructively. Fortunately, the temple in question had been dedicated to Fang, so she hadn't had to deal with any other angry gods, not that she would have minded much.

Well aware of the curious looks she received, Fang ambled through the shimmering streets of Cocoon. The streets themselves were paved with fine marble streaked with precious stones. It was a beautiful sight, but Fang would have preferred to feel snow beneath her feet, or grass. Besides, the streets of Cocoon were a little hard to look at sometimes they glowed so brightly.

Still, it was hard not to think at least a little about all the curious looks the other gods gave her. Most of them were probably related to the rumours that had begun to circulate, rumours that had almost resulted in the loss of her head the last time that she had visited Lightning. Apparently, the two of them were engaged in quite the torrid love affair, forever sneaking out to consummate their insatiable lust for each other in the most ridiculous of ways. One especially salacious rumour had the two of them coupling on the altar of the High Mother's temple.

Such rumours, however, were false – not to mention that coupling on the High Mother's altar was blasphemy of the highest order, the kind likely to earn the perpetrators a swift, horribly painful demise. That wasn't to say that Fang was averse to taking lovers – she had done so in the past – but contrary to what some believed, her interest in Lightning did not lie in the other goddess's considerable physical charms. She grinned. True, any such… dalliance would be enjoyable for both of them – Fang would see to that – but they were friends, awkward and grudging friends perhaps, but friends nonetheless. Fang would not risk their friendship over a few moments of pleasure.

She reached Lightning's home near the heart of Cocoon and shook her head. Lightning was, by nature, quite aloof and not at all disposed toward great shows of material wealth. The other goddess would have been content to live in a simple home, but her position as the right hand of High Mother decreed a certain level of prestige. Thus Lightning's home had been fashioned by Cocoon's finest craftsmen, a stately residence wrought of the finest, most expensive materials. The house alone, to say nothing of its contents, was probably worth more than the entire treasury of the Yun. However, Fang knew that Lightning did not much care for it. Her house was a place to rest and to train. Nothing more.

The gates in front of the house opened as Fang drew near and she grinned. No door, save for one fashioned by the High Mother or the High Father could keep her out. She took a moment to glance at the lush garden before she climbed the steps into the house itself. A broad atrium awaited her, and her brows furrowed faintly as she caught sight of a gaggle of worried lesser goddesses.

One of the lesser goddesses, little more than a teenager amongst the gods, came forward, her hands clasped in front of her. The younger goddess's eyes were an unearthly blue. Perhaps she was one of the many lesser gods of lightning that served Lightning herself.

"Please, honoured goddess, now is not a good time."

Normally, Fang would have tried to charm her way through such objections, but there was something in the lesser goddess's voice that gave her pause. Tentatively, she reached out with her senses. Lightning's presence washed over her, dark and brooding like a storm on the horizon. This… this was not good. "Explain."

The lesser goddess looked about furtively as though unsure if she should speak, but Fang stepped forward and put a reassuring smile on her face.

"Do not panic, young one. I am here. You know that I am a friend to you mistress. Speak, and I will do what I can to aid her." Fang paused. "Please."

The lesser goddess nodded slowly. "There… there was a mission from the High Mother. Normally… normally she is fine after those, but this time." She shuddered. "This time there was blood and she would not speak with any of us, and she sends away any of us who dare approach."

"I see." Fang glanced around the atrium. "Take the others with you. I will speak to your mistress."

The lesser goddesses departed, leaving Fang to her task. With one hand, she reached up and unclasped the blue cloak she wore. If Lightning was in a bad mood, then it would be unwise to wear anything that might hinder her movement. But this was likely more than a bad mood, for Lightning had never before treated her attendants poorly.

Silently, Fang padded through the house, passing beneath several graceful arches until she finally came to the garden that lay at the heart of the building. It was filled with flowers, but Lightning seemed to pay them no mind. Instead, Lightning seemed content to stand with her back to Fang, her eyes locked onto the surface of the small pond at the centre of the garden.

Fang stepped into the garden. "So, sparky, what's the matter?"

Lightning said nothing and Fang felt her unease grow stronger. Worse, she could smell blood, old, dried blood.

Brows furrowed, Fang stopped a few steps from Lightning. This time, when she spoke, there was no lightness to her tone. "Lightning, tell me. What is wrong?"

The other goddess finally turned and Fang could barely keep from flinching away. Lightning's eyes were as hard as diamond. There was no trace of emotion in them, no trace of anything save for an emptiness, a nothingness, so vast it seemed ready to swallow Fang whole. Dimly, she noted the blood splattered across Lightning's armour. It stained her breastplate, her greaves, and covered her arms right up to the elbows. Fang swallowed thickly. Mortal blood could not possibly have dirtied Lightning's armour… but divine blood… that was another matter.

"What happened?" Fang whispered. But deep inside, she knew. Lightning had been called upon to mete out the High Mother's punishment, but it had been no ordinary punishment. Whatever it had been, it had cost Lightning dearly to carry it out.

"I have killed, Fang." Lightning stared down at her hands. "No… I have done more than kill."

"Who?" Fang shuddered. What could be worse than death? A thought occurred to her, but almost as quickly, she swept it aside. The High Mother would never order such a thing, nor would she be so callous as to order Lightning to carry it out on her behalf. That would have been monstrous.

"Two nights ago, three gods sought to take Aerith from Cocoon." Lightning's fists clenched. "They failed, but many were killed in their attempt. The High Mother ordered me to pursue them and inflict their punishment."

"And what was that punishment?" Fang's jaw tightened. Why had no one told her of an attempt to take Aerith? And why had she heard nothing of casualties?

"They were sentenced to oblivion," Lightning said. Fang froze, horrified. "I sent them to oblivion, Fang. I drove my hand into their chest and crushed their souls." She lifted one, gore encrusted arm. "They are gone, Fang, gone in the truest sense of the word. But… but no one ever warned me about how it would feel. I saw some of their memories. I felt them wash over me like a black tide. And their emotions… I could feel everything they felt as they went into oblivion, as the emptiness swallowed them whole." Lightning shivered. "There were three of them, Fang, and the sentence was the same for each of them."

Fang trembled. To actually give such an order – to sentence a god to oblivion – that was not something that the High Mother had ever asked Fang to do. And only once had Fang done such a thing, and even then, it had been in the heat of battle, with the other god determined to do the same to her. What Lightning had been asked to do was carry out an execution. "Lightning…"

Lightning's eyes closed and she turned away. "Leave me. I am in no mood for talk or battle."

For a moment, Fang moved to protest. But she could find no words of comfort, and she knew that to lay hands on Lightning now, to offer the other goddess a shoulder to weep upon might break their friendship forever. Lightning was proud, too proud to accept any comfort that Fang might give, even if she desperately needed it. So instead, Fang turned, she turned and as the anger in her heart grew greater and greater, she went to seek out the one she held responsible. She and the High Mother would be having words.

She appeared in the High Mother's throne room in a whirlwind. Lesser gods scattered and ran for the doors as she strode toward the High Mother's crystal throne. A few gods came forward, determined to step between Fang and the High Mother, but they stopped in their tracks as the older goddess stood.

"You seem angry, my daughter." The High Mother was perfect beyond words and the raw power that rolled off her was enough to almost drive Fang to her knees. She smiled at her guards. "Leave us, I would speak with the Fang of the Heavens alone."

The throne room emptied and the two of them were alone.

"I could feel your rage well before you arrived," the High Mother said. Her voice was beautiful beyond description, an unmatched blend of patience, warmth, and love. But somehow, the words still seemed to cut. "You come on behalf of my Blade."

"I come on behalf of Lightning," Fang growled. She snarled and thrust one arm out at the High Mother. Winds lashed the chamber, but the High Mother stood unmoved, her expression one of utmost serenity. "You must fix her. Surely you can feel her pain, just as you can feel my anger. She is mighty, High Mother, mightier than almost any other, but what you asked of her was too much. To send another god to oblivion? Such a punishment has not been passed down for an age!"

The High Mother met Fang's gaze calmly, and her eyes were every colour in the world. "Perhaps, but Aerith is special. She alone of all gods was born of the very flesh and blood of Pulse. The power that flows through her cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. Had I spared the three gods that sought to take her, others would have tried. Now, none would dare."

"You could have done it yourself," Fang replied. At her feet, the wind had begun to carve little furrows into the fine marble floor. "You did not have to order her to do it in your stead."

"She is the Sword of Heaven, Fang, my Blade to be wielded against my enemies." The High Mother's gaze sharpened a fraction. "An example had to be made. The sharpness of a sword must be demonstrated before others can come to fear it."

Fang thought of Lightning's eyes, of the hardness she had seen, and the emptiness that lingered. "You will break her, High Mother. No sword, however strong or sharp is unbreakable, and you are a fool if you cannot see that."

The High Mother's smile slipped and a wave of power rolled off her. This time, Fang was driven to her knees. The pressure on her was so great that she could barely move. "Tread lightly, oh Fang of the Heavens. I love you dearly, but a daughter should know better than to speak to her mother in such a fashion."

Fang forced her head up. "If I speak bluntly, High Mother, it is because honeyed words shall do you no good at all." The pressure eased a little and she dragged in a breath. "I speak because I love you, High Mother, and because I know that your strength has always been tempered by compassion. But where is that compassion when it comes to Lightning?"

The High Mother sat back on her throne. "There can be no softness in her, Fang, no weakness. You have chosen to shepherd the Yun and that is well, for mankind sorely needs our guidance. But the laws of heaven can be broken, and so someone is needed to punish those who break them. Who will do it if not her? You? Your spirit is too free. To chain you to that duty would destroy you. But Lightning, her duty defines her – I have made her so. Others can afford weakness, Fang, but she cannot. She must be more."

Fang shook her head slowly. She trusted the High Mother with her life, but on this matter, she could not bring herself to agree. And it was out love for the High Mother that she spoke, for she knew that if Lightning broke, the High Mother would blame herself, and her grief would be terrible indeed. "A sword without compassion… a sword without mercy… such a sword may one day turn on even its master."

The High Mother's voice snapped out. "Watch your words carefully, daughter."

"If Lightning is truly a sword, then she is the sharpest sword in the world." Fang squared her shoulders. "And you would make her sharper still. If you subject her only to the horror of what we gods can do, if you force her to face only what is worst in us, then eventually, no matter how loyal, no matter how much she loves you, she will come to despise you for the duty that you have thrust upon her. Give her a sheath, High Mother, give her something that she can treasure and hold dear no matter how dark her duty. Give her something that will drive the emptiness away. No sword should have to bare its edge without respite."

The pressure on Fang vanished entirely as the High Mother's face took on a thoughtful look. She smiled. "You speak wisely, Fang." She stepped from her throne and reached over to cup Fang's cheek. "Of all my children, it is your heart that sees most clearly." She chuckled faintly. "Though I wonder if perhaps you speak of yourself when you speak of giving Lightning something to cherish."

Fang shivered. It was easy to forget sometimes that the High Mother could see into the very core of her being. "No, I do not speak of myself."

The High Mother smiled faintly. "But there is still a part of you that desires that."

Fang shook her head. "Perhaps, but even lovers can betray one another. Give her family, High Mother. Give her someone who will love her best of all."

The High Mother's smile widened. "Your time watching over the Yun has taught you much." She turned and dismissed Fang with a wave. "Go, I will consider your advice. As for Lightning, I will release her from her duties for a while. Comfort her as you would, but say nothing of what we have spoken of." She looked over her shoulder as Fang strode out of the throne room. "After all, even gods can be made fools by love."

X X X

Lightning frowned faintly as she stepped into the home of the High Mother. The past few weeks had been… odd. Fang had spent much more time on Cocoon than usual, pestering her and bothering her, and dragging her to any number of silly, pointless activities. What care did Lightning have for the festivities held by the others gods? And what purpose was there in wandering in disguise through the teeming marketplaces of mankind? And when Fang was not dragging her somewhere, she was pushing her into battle after battle. At least the other goddess had made no mention of Lightning's earlier weakness, for that would have brought her unbearable shame. Lightning was supposed to be strong, firm, resolute. She was not supposed to grieve at justly executing gods who had defied the laws of heaven and the will of the High Mother.

Yet despite how aggravating Fang's antics could be, Lightning had to admit that there was a certain comfort in them too. When they were sparring, or arguing, or simply wandering around in search of mischief, she did not think of what she had done, or what it had cost her. Instead, she was able to relax, to take pleasure in the simple joy of movement. Even Aerith seemed to notice the change in her, for the young goddess no longer behaved so tentatively about her.

"High Mother," Lightning said as she stepped into one of the inner chambers of the house and dropped to one knee. "I have come."

The High Mother's voice was warm and gentle and at once Lightning felt reassured. "Please, rise. You have enjoyed your rest I take it?"

Lightning stood and nodded. "Yes, and I believe I am ready to return to my duties." Whatever the High Mother did, she did because it was necessary. Lightning believed that with every fibre of her being. She had to. And when the time came to do terrible things, she would do them so that no one else had to.

"Good," the High Mother said. "But a few weeks more rest, I think, would be best." She paused. "Delivering another god to oblivion is no small thing, and it must have pained you deeply."

Lightning fought back a shiver. "It was my duty, and I would do so again if you ordered it."

"Even so, it could not have been easy." The High Mother gestured at the centre of the room. There was a bed there draped in fine silks so that its occupant could not be seen. "But I wonder if perhaps I have not done you a disservice, Lightning. I have trained you, taught you the ways of battle and duty. But there is more to life than battle, more to life than duty. Perhaps my greatest joy is watching my children, all of you, prosper and grow." She gave Lightning a gently chiding look. "I have seen your home, Lightning. There is nothing there for you, no comfort, no joy. But perhaps your heart would be less heavy, perhaps your duties would not seem so bleak if you had someone waiting for you, someone to love and care for."

Lightning stiffened. "With all due respect, High Mother, I need no lover."

"And I am not giving you one," the High Mother replied. She beckoned Lightning over to the bed and pulled the drapes away. "Behold."

A young goddess lay there, looking no older than a mortal of four or five. But what made Lightning gasp and stagger back in shock was the appearance of the young goddess. It could almost have been her lying there they looked so similar. But wait there were differences. The young goddess's hair was almost the same shade as hers, but her face was softer, gentler. Almost without thinking, Lightning leaned forward to brush away a stray lock of hair. Blue eyes opened. Startled, Lightning pulled away.

The High Mother sat on the edge of the bed and helped the young goddess sit up. "Greetings, young one."

The young goddess clutched onto the High Mother's robes. "Mother… where am I?" Her voice was like music and Lightning felt something deep inside her whisper a reply. The young goddess tilted her head to one side and looked at Lightning. "Who… who is she?"

"You are in Cocoon, the home of the gods." The High Mother smiled and gestured at Lightning. "She is Lightning, young one, and she is your sister."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> So… it's been a while, at least for this story. I was going to put another Vanille chapter here, but after a bit of thinking, I decided to go with this one. As you might have realised, some of the chapters are set in the past while others are set in the present. To understand the present, to understand why Lightning and Fang are the way they are, it is necessary to look into the past, and the past, as you can see, is not without its problems.
> 
> Readers familiar with Rurouni Kenshin are likely to recognise the fact that I've adapted my concept of a 'sheath' from that series. Now, a sheath serves at least two purposes. First, a sheath protects a sword when it is not being used, and second, a sheath makes a sword safer to handle. Without a sheath, a sword is left exposed to the elements (e.g., water), which may damage the weapon. A sword without a sheath is also very dangerous to handle. In this chapter, Lightning is the sword, and what she receives at the end is a sheath. As Fang observed, Lightning could inflict tremendous damage if she ever went rogue. Thus something is needed to ensure that she remains stable and loyal. Someone who loves her unconditionally, who will not be horrified by the nature of her duty – that kind of person would offer Lightning an anchor. That person would, in effect, be Lightning's sheath, a way to restrain her power and fury until her duty demands it.
> 
> On an unrelated topic, I've often thought about putting omake at the end of each chapter in the stories that I write. For various reasons, I've never actually done that, but I've been wondering if it might be worth lumping together all of the various omake ideas that I have into a separate story. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Recently, I've also been trying to formalise some of the things I do when it comes to writing (e.g., how to write a fight scene), and I've been thinking it might be nice to put some of that on a blog. Would anyone be interested in that? Writing that sort of thing helps me clarify and refine my own writing processes, and a few people might even find it useful.
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	9. The Healer And The Dragon

**The Healer and the Dragon**

"Um… thank you," Vanille said as Bhakti uncoiled his tail and set her back on his feet. One moment she'd been tripping over, the next his tail had shot out to catch her. It had all happened so fast that she hadn't even seen the dragon move.

Bhakti nodded and gave her a light pat on the shoulder with the tip of his tail before he gave her what she supposed passed for a sunny smile amongst his kind. Unfortunately, however, they were not amongst his kind. To the warriors gathered around them, his toothy grin must have seemed threatening, and it was enough to spur one of the warriors into taking action.

The warrior stepped forward, a spear in her hand, and Vanille opened her mouth to cry out. Bhakti didn't seem like he wanted to do any harm, but if he was attacked, there was no telling how he might react. However, before the warrior could take more than one or two steps, a gnarled hand shot out to grasp the shaft of the spear.

"Fool!" the old woman growled as she tightened her hold on the spear. Her eyes narrowed and then, in a movement so fast that Vanille could only gape, the old woman upended the warrior and tossed the spear aside. "What are you doing?"

For a moment the warrior could only lie there and stare, seemingly unable to believe what had just happened. Vanille could certainly understand her shock. The old woman had moved with a speed and grace that belied her many years. Beside her, Bhakti seemed content to watch, his tail moving lazily through the air.

"Honoured elder," the warrior stuttered as she got back to her feet. "I was simply trying to protect the Dia."

"Protect?" The elder's eyes gleamed and she drew herself up to her full height. Over the past few weeks, Vanille had grown used to standing almost level with the old woman, but now she could see the real difference in their height. The old woman was a full head taller than her, perhaps more. Strength filled the old woman's lean frame and almost as one, the warriors recoiled. She might be old, but this was still the woman who had once climbed the mountain of the goddess. "Does she look like she needs protecting?"

Vanille winced as all of the warriors turned their eyes to her. She had never liked being the centre of attention, and now she most certainly was. It did not help either that Bhakti had chosen that exact moment to tug her over to his side using his tail. The scales there were warm, almost hot.

"I don't think I'm in any danger," Vanille murmured, running one hand absently over Bhakti's pale red scales. "It doesn't seem like he wants to hurt me." The words felt right on her tongue, though she could not be sure where her certainty came from.

Bhakti gave her a gentle pat on the back with his tail.  _I won't hurt you. The goddess sent me to be your friend._

"Oh." Vanille wanted very much to scratch the back of her head. It was something of a nervous gesture, one she'd had since she was a child, but now hardly seemed like a good time. She had a feeling though that up on her mountain, the goddess was probably laughing at her. "He said that… um… the goddess sent him."

One of the warriors frowned. "He speaks? I heard nothing."

The old woman sighed and the sudden strength that had filled her slipped away. She gave all of the warriors a weary look and then reached down to pick up the spear she'd tossed aside. She held the weapon for a moment and then handed it back to its owner with a nod. The Yun might deal with each other harshly, but they were still a clan, a family. Youthful foolishness would be punished swiftly, but it was forgiven swiftly as well.

"Dragons do not speak aloud," the old woman said. "They speak to the heart, and only those they choose can hear them." She motioned for calm. "Now, calm yourselves. You are warriors, not children. The goddess has sent this dragon as a token of her favour – he will not harm her chosen." Her gaze sharpened. "Now, put aside your weapons. If the dragon wished to harm any of us, he would have done so by now."

Reluctantly, the warriors put aside their weapons, but none of them made any move to leave. If the chosen of the goddess died in their presence, it would bring unbelievable shame upon their clan.

"So," the old woman said as she turned to face Vanille and Bhakti. "Does this young one have a name?"

Vanille nodded. "He calls himself Bhakti." Beside her, the dragon gave a happy trill.

"Bhakti?" The old woman chuckled. "A fine name for a dragon." She inclined her head at Bhakti. "Well then, greetings, Bhakti. It would seem that our goddess has sent you here for a reason. I wish to know that reason."

Vanille sensed the change in Bhakti almost at once. The young dragon had watched the warriors almost lazily, as though he cared little for what they did. Indeed, had the old woman not stopped the spear, it likely wouldn't have done much more than scratch his scales. In return, he could very easily have set a good portion of the village alight. But now, as the old woman spoke, he straightened, rising to sit up on his haunches. It was a matter of respect, Vanille realised. Bhakti respected the old woman.

Bhakti glanced at Vanille.  _The goddess asked me to come here and be her friend, Old One. So, here I am._

"I see." The old woman nodded at Vanille. "It would seem he does not mind speaking to me." Her lips twitched and she smiled at Bhakti. "And such a polite young dragon too. Most of your kind are less… friendly." She chuckled briefly. "Well, young Dia, what will you do now?"

Vanille pursed her lips, keenly aware of all the eyes on her. The warriors had calmed for the most part, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fujin perched on a nearby roof, one hand on her chakram. She had a feeling that the moment Bhakti did anything wrong, Fujin would leap into action. For his part, Bhakti had once again taken to lying down beside her, his wings tucked tightly against his body.

"I think we should let him stay," Vanille said. A gasp ran through the crowd, and she quickly pressed on before she could lose her nerve. "The goddess sent him to me, and so it would be foolish to send him away. Besides, he seems friendly enough, and he isn't causing any harm."

"Indeed he is not." The old woman's eyes swept over the crowd. "Listen well. This dragon – Bhakti – shall stay." Her eyes narrowed. "He is a gift from the goddess to her chosen. As such, you will all treat him with respect. From this moment forth, he is a member of this village." She turned and gave the dragon a stern look. "As for you, young dragon, I expect the same. Treat this village as your family, as your home. You will not make trouble. Do you understand?"

Bhakti nodded and then turned to Vanille as if waiting for her instructions. Vanille took a moment to think things over. She'd kept a dog when she was younger, but a dragon was another matter entirely.

"Do as she says," Vanille said. "And everything should be fine."

"Good." The old woman turned back to the crowd. "This matter is settled. Return to work for there is much that needs doing, and there will be plenty of time to look at the dragon later." She smiled faintly at a group of children peering eagerly at the dragon from just behind the warriors. "As for you, little ones, perhaps you would be wise to ask before approaching the dragon."

Slowly, the crowd dispersed. A few warriors stopped to glare at Bhakti, but the dragon seemed content to simply glare back. If Vanille had to judge, he emerged the winner in most of these contests, although that wasn't surprising. He was, after all, a dragon.

Finally, only the old woman and Fujin remained.

The old woman nodded at Fujin. "I believe you have training to attend to."

Fujin nodded back and then turned to study Bhakti. The dragon met her gaze evenly and flashed her a toothy smile. She scowled. "COME. TRAINING."

Vanille was quick to agree. After all of the excitement, it would be nice to do something routine. But what would she do about Bhakti? It probably wouldn't be a good idea to just leave him in the village. She didn't think any of the warriors would make trouble – the old woman had forbidden it – but it was probably better to be safe than sorry. Gingerly, she reached out and gave Bhakti a pat on the head. The dragon made a pleased sound and licked her hand.

"I guess he could follow us." Vanille shrugged. "Is that okay?"

"FINE," Fujin said.

 _It's fine._  There was a gust of wind as Bhakti unfurled his wings.  _I'll just follow you and watch._

Fujin looked at the dragon for a long moment and then turned to begin their run up into the mountains. "LIFE STRANGE NOW."

Vanille giggled and started after Fujin. "Yes. Yes, it is."

X X X

The run up the mountain had been quite… interesting. True to his word, Bhakti had kept his distance and simply watched – from the sky. At first, it had been quite unsettling to have his dark shadow sweeping over the snow around her, but eventually, Vanille had gotten used to it. And if it had bothered Fujin, the crimson-eyed woman gave no sign. Instead, Fujin seemed content to set a gruelling pace that Vanille could barely keep up with, even after weeks of training.

Afterwards, rather than returning to the village, Fujin instead led them to the training ground that they had come to make their own. This was the newest change to her training regimen, for rather than being given lunch, Vanille would have to catch her own. Although Vanille had never particularly liked harming anything, she had learned very quickly that being squeamish meant going hungry.

Using what she'd been taught, Vanille quickly prepared a snare along a well-worn animal track and waited. Only a few minutes later, she was rewarded with one of the hardy rabbits that sometimes frequented the lower slopes of the mountains. The rabbit's thick white pelt was smooth to the touch, and would probably make for a fine set of gloves. Quickly, she offered her thanks to the gods and then killed the rabbit.

As she cooked the rabbit over a fire that Fujin had started, she caught Bhakti eyeing the animal keenly. "Are you hungry?" Vanille asked. The dragon nodded. "Would you like some?"

Fujin looked from the rabbit to the dragon. "FOOL. RABBIT SMALL."

Vanille frowned. Fujin did have a point. Bhakti was a good twenty or so feet long so the rabbit probably wouldn't be even one mouthful for him. "You know, Bhakti, you could hunt something if you wanted."

Bhakti's eyes gleamed.  _I will bring something back._  And then, in a flash of movement and a gust of wind, the dragon was gone.

Fujin waited until the dragon was out of sight to pin Vanille with her stare. "TRUST ALREADY. WHY?"

The words were harshly spoken, but so were most of Fujin's words. More than anything, though, Fujin seemed genuinely curious. It was strange, Vanille though, since Fujin did not have much faith in the goddess. But perhaps she had faith in Vanille, otherwise she should have been much more wary of the dragon.

"I can't really explain it," Vanille said softly. "He just seems nice." She tapped her chest over her heart. "He feels right, and he reminds a little of the goddess. I know he won't hurt me."

Fujin made an amused sound. "AND ME?"

Vanille grinned. "You're my friend, Fujin. Of course, he won't hurt you." She took the rabbit from the fire and offered Fujin a portion. "So, what will you be teaching me today? Is it the staff again?"

Fujin walked over to one of the trees at the edge of the training ground and quickly found her way up into the branches. She came back down with two spears. Vanille sighed. Despite all of her training, she hadn't even noticed the spears up there, but now that she thought about it, it did make a great deal of sense. The Yun were great climbers, and up in the trees, the weapons were safely out of the reach of children or animals. It also saved on having to carry them back and forth between the training ground and the village.

"SPEAR." Fujin handed one of the weapons to Vanille. "NOW REAL YUN."

Vanille looked down at the weapon in her hands and grinned as she felt a wave of excitement sweep through her. "You really think I'm ready?" She'd finally gotten comfortable with the staff, although she was a long, long way from giving Fujin a decent challenge. Then again, the old woman had said that Fujin was one of the Yun's best.

"READY." Fujin nodded and then took a stance. "FOLLOW."

Vanille followed as best she could as Fujin took her through the basics of using a spear. Some of it was similar to using a staff, but there was much that was different. The biggest differences lay in how to use the ends of the spear, for the spears of the Yun were often sharp at both ends. Now that a cutting edge was available, slashes and thrusts were more prominent. However, some of the movements were clearly meant to be performed with one hand, not two, almost as though the other hand was supposed to be holding something else, like a dagger or a shield.

Once Fujin had decided that she had learned enough, the crimson-eyed woman decided to take things a step further.

"ATTACK," Fujin said as she took a stance opposite Vanille.

The red haired young woman didn't need to be told twice. She could either attack, or she could hesitate and let Fujin attack, which would only end in pain, bruises, and a great deal of regret. Taking a moment to judge the distance, Vanille tightened her hold on her spear and then lunged forward. With a cry, she thrust her spear straight at Fujin's chest. The other woman stepped to the side and brought her spear down hard on Vanille's. The weapon clattered out Vanille's hands and Vanille hissed as Fujin rapped her in the ribs with the flat of her spear.

"ONE." Fujin nodded at the fallen spear. "HOLD STRONGER. SPEAR LIFE."

Vanille nodded and picked up the spear. Fujin was right. Her spear would be of little use at all if her opponents could just knock it out of her hands. Warily, she began to circle Fujin. She had learned long ago that trying to use the woman's blind spot against her was likely to fail. However, simply attacking straight on would be even less likely to succeed.

She waited until Fujin was forced to pivot to face her and then thrust her spear toward the other woman's midsection. Fujin parried the blow, and Vanille spun to try and slash at Fujin's chest. The silver haired woman took a step back and Vanille darted forward in a bid to keep her off balance. For a moment Fujin seemed to stumble and Vanille drove her spear forward with both hands. However, it was nothing more than a trick. Fujin jerked to the side and grabbed hold of Vanille's spear. Desperately, Vanille tightened her hold on the weapon, only for Fujin to smile faintly before whacking her in the ribs.

"TWO." Fujin let go of the spear. "FAST. NOT LEAVE OUT." Fujin thrust her spear out and then quickly drew it back to a ready position. "SLOW IS OPEN. OPEN IS DEAD."

Vanille nodded and rubbed at her sore ribs. Her body already ached from the run they'd been on, and now her arms were almost numb. Using a spear seemed even harder than using a staff, and unlike the staff, she hadn't had weeks of training to get used to things. Still, she knew better than to complain. Fujin was a harsh, even brutal, trainer, but her advice was good, and the results spoke for themselves. Vanille had learned more in the past few weeks than she had ever thought possible. She might not be a match for a fully-fledged Yun warrior, but she no longer felt quite so helpless, and that feeling of security – of safety and self-reliance – was more than worth the pain she'd experienced.

Breathing heavily, Vanille closed in on Fujin again. Rather than go for a large, powerful strike, she decided to test the waters with a series of swifter, lighter blows in the hopes of creating an opening. Fujin dealt with each attack easily, but there was a gleam of approval in her eyes. Vanille's plan had been sound, and against a less experienced opponent, it might well have worked. Still, there were lessons to be taught, and Fujin did not hesitate to punish each of Vanille's mistakes with a "kill" that showed Vanille exactly what she had done wrong.

As Vanille launched another attack, Fujin moved forward. She twisted away from Vanille's strike and then used the shaft of her spear to knock Vanille's feet out from under her. Vanille hit the ground with a thump, and regained her bearings just in time to find herself looking up along the length of Fujin's spear. Almost lazily, Fujin tapped the blunt edge of the weapon on Vanille's chest over her heart.

"DEAD." Fujin poked Vanille once more for emphasis. "REMEMEBER USE WHOLE SPEAR. INSTINCTS GOOD. PRACTICE BASICS."

Vanille nodded and was about to rise when a tremendous bellow shook the training ground. A split-second later, Bhakti was there. The dragon landed with a crunch. There was a full-grown stag clutched in his claws, but the anima was forgotten a moment later as he tossed it aside and lunged straight at Fujin.

"Bhakti, no!" Vanille shouted. He must have seen her and Fujin sparring and assumed the worst.

The dragon's open jaws hurtled toward Fujin, but as fast as Bhakti was, Fujin was ever faster. She darted just out of reach and then tossed a handful of snow straight into Bhakti's eyes. The dragon roared and shook his head to clear away the snow.

"SLOW." Fujin stood a few steps out of the dragon's reach, her single crimson eye narrowed in a look that held no hint of fear. As for her spear, the weapon was held in both hands, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. A faint smile crossed her lips. "COME."

Vanille stumbled to her feet as Bhakti rushed past her and lashed out with his tail. Fujin ducked beneath the strike and the tree behind her came apart in a shower of splintered wood. Her spear shot forward, and even though its blunted edge prevented it from piercing the dragon's scales, the sheer force of the blow sent up a shower of sparks. Bhakti growled and turned to bring his claws and teeth into the fray, but somehow Fujin managed to weave her way through the storm of blows, never more than a hair's breadth from death.

Several times, Fujin spear's darted out, and each time it kicked up a spray of sparks. Eyes wide with awe, Vanille could only wonder what would have happened if Fujin had been using a real weapon. But such wonderings could wait.

"Stop!" Vanille shouted. "Stop it, both of you!"

Bhakti froze at once, his tail in mid swing. Fujin gave the dragon a scowl and then relaxed.

Sighing, Vanille went over to Bhakti and ran one hand up and down his side to try and soothe him. He stiffened for a moment and then leaned into her touch. "It's okay, Bhakti. Fujin was just training me." The dragon's eyes narrowed and he hissed at Fujin. "You see, I have to learn the ways of the Yun, and that includes fighting. Besides, if I learn how to fight, then it means I'll be able to protect myself."

The dragon huffed.  _I'll protect you._

"Thank you," Vanille said with a smile. "But I want to be able to protect myself too." She paused. How could she explain her feelings to a dragon? They were born powerful, not weak like her. "I… I don't want to be weak anymore." Bhakti rumbled grumpily. "And Fujin is my friend." She gave the dragon a firm pat on the back. "If you want to be my friend, then you have to be nice to her." The dragon gave her a horrified look. "I'm not saying you have to be her friend too, although I'd like that, and I'm not saying you have to get on really well. But you can't attack her, or burn her, or anything like that."

The dragon gave the snow beside them a petulant whack with his tail.  _She stabbed me with her spear._

"And you almost bit her in half." Vanille giggled. "And it's not like her spear did very much – it was blunt." The dragon still looked very put out, but there was something almost childlike about his expression. It was, Vanille thought, very much like arguing with a five-year old. "Now, Bhakti, I want you to say sorry."

The dragon looked at Vanille and then at Fujin. He looked away.  _Sorry._

Fujin's eye widened. "CAN HEAR IN HEAD."

"That's how they talk, I think," Vanille said. "I don't understand exactly how it works though, I just know that it does." She gave Fujin a teasing look. "Now, maybe you should apologise too."

Fujin scowled. "WHY? DEFENDING SELF."

"Well, he did apologise." Beside Vanille, Bhakti grinned at Fujin. "And you did sort of stab him, even if it didn't do very much."

Fujin twitched. Apologising to a dragon was not something she had ever thought she would do.

"Fujin," Vanille said, eyes softening. "Please, trust me."

"FINE." Fujin put her spear down and extended one hand toward Bhakti. "SORRY."

The dragon chortled and reached up to pat her hand with one claw. It was, Vanille thought, one of the strangest things she'd ever seen. Still, it was better than watching them trying to kill each other.

"All right, now that we've sorted that out, maybe we can go back to training." Vanille reached for her spear and caught sight of the dead stag. "Oh, did you catch that, Bhakti?"

The dragon nodded.  _I ate one earlier. That one is for you._

"Really?" Vanille winced. She was hungry, but a whole stag was a little much. However… "Maybe we can share it with the village instead, Bhakti. It can be your gift, you know, a peace offering."

Fujin looked at the dragon. "WHERE?"

 _I found it on the mountainside a few miles from here._  The dragon shrugged.  _It was easy._

Fujin's lips curled. "USEFUL." She nodded at the stag. "BRING AFTER TRAINING."

X X X

"So," the old woman said from her seat opposite Vanille at the table, "It seems that the dragon brought the village a gift today." Her eyes were keen. "Or rather, you gave the dragon's gift to the village."

Vanille groaned. She was exhausted. Training with the spear was even harder than training with the staff, and she was still getting used to the spearheads at either end of the weapon. More than once, she'd managed to hit herself, and Fujin had dryly commented that if the spear had been a proper one, she'd have killed herself three or four times over. Even Bhakti had laughed at her. Apparently, it was the equivalent of a dragon stabbing itself with its own tail.

"Bhakti is nice," Vanille said. "True, he's a little different from everyone, but he is a dragon."

"Yes, he is." The old woman smiled and glanced out the window. Bhakti was curled up against the side of Vanille's house. He'd wanted to come inside, but he couldn't even fit through the door. In the end, Vanille had managed to placate him by giving him an old pair of shoes to fiddle with. "Still, I've never heard of a dragon being so curious about our ways."

"I know." Vanille smiled. "He even asked me to show him how I put on my clothes, and when I went to visit the blacksmith, he even stuck his head through one of the windows to watch. He's like a child." She grinned at the old woman. "Did Fujin tell you about what happened."

The old woman chuckled. "She did." Her expression grew serious. "But it was a good thing that it was Fujin he attacked. Few warriors would have been able to hold their own for so long."

Vanille nodded. Whether or not Bhakti had been sent by the goddess, the Yun would never accept him if he killed one of them. Still, she couldn't get the image of Fujin out of her mind. If only she could move like that. "I asked him to apologise, you know." She laughed softly. "It was like I was back at the orphanage in Oerba talking to one of the younger kids."

The old woman gave her a thoughtful look. "Perhaps that is not unexpected, young Dia. For one of his kind, Bhakti is a child."

"Really?" Vanille didn't know very much about dragons.

The old woman reached for a glass of water. "Yes, young Dia. Dragons grow as they get older."

"Then he must be young indeed because he is the smallest dragon that I've seen here." Vanille sighed. "Of course, even a small dragon is quite large."

"Compared to us, yes." The old woman reached over to pat Vanille's hand. "You would do well to remember this, young Dia. For all that he seems large, for all that he seems powerful, Bhakti is still a child, albeit one with the strength to tear down trees and with fire hot enough to melt solid rock." She smiled. "But do not worry. You have a great heart, one big enough for even a dragon to admire. Now, tell me, what is on your mind? Some of your thoughts are of this village and its people, but your eyes, your eyes are far away."

Vanille flushed. In truth, she had been a little distracted. Bhakti's arrival had only driven home just how far she was from Oerba. "I was thinking of home," she murmured before realising how her words might be taken. "I mean, I understand that this place is also my home now, but I was thinking of Oerba. I worry about it. Has there been any word?"

The old woman gave her a gentle smile. "It is all right, young Dia. It is only natural that you miss the place where you have spent so much of your life." Her eyes twinkled. "In fact, there are times when I too think of Oerba."

"There are?" Vanille's eyes widened. The old woman did not speak too often of her past, though she was always more than willing to speak about the village and the ways of the Yun. "Have you been there before?"

"You could say that." The old woman gave Vanille a wry look. "I was born in Oerba." Vanille's gaped and the old woman grinned. "It seems that I have surprised you."

"Yes, you have," Vanille blurted before a blush crossed her cheeks. It was just that the old woman seemed so comfortable here. It was like she'd been born here, amongst all the winds and the mountains. "But, how is that possible?"

The old woman's eyes grew wistful, and for a moment she was far away in space and time. "My mother was a warrior of the Yun, not an especially famous one, but skilled in her way. She wasn't from this village, but my father, he was born here." She chuckled softly. "He was a fourth son in a clan that prizes daughters, so not much was expected of him. Still, he grew to be a warrior of some skill. At the time, we were at war with Cocoon, and both my mother and father went to Oerba to lend their aid. I was born there, not long after the war finished, and my parents decided to stay there until Oerba and the lands around it had recovered a little. I was almost eight when we finally left." She nodded at Vanille. "I love the Yun dearly, young Dia, but there is beauty to be found in Oerba that cannot be found in the mountains. However, my memories of Oerba are old. Perhaps you could refresh them?"

Vanille was more than happy to do just that, and it was only after speaking for almost an hour that she realised just how crafty the old woman was. She frowned faintly. "Honoured elder, it occurs to me that you never answered my question about Oerba. Has there been word?"

The old woman cackled merrily. "It took you long enough, young Dia. You are wise, but my age makes me cunning." Her gaze grew sombre. "There has been word, but not all of it is good. There are whispers from Cocoon. Their armies are gathering. In a month, most likely two, they will begin their march across the plains."

Vanille jerked to her feet. "But… Oerba!"

The old woman's voice snapped out. "Calm yourself, young Dia. Word has already been sent to the other clans. As Cocoon marshals its forces, so do we. Focus on your training and know that we will be ready. All that remains is to make you ready."

Vanille sank back into her chair. Her jaw clenched. She would not allow harm to come to Oerba. "Do not worry, honoured elder. I will be ready."

X X X

Vanille continued her training with a revamped schedule. Mornings were spent running with Fujin while Bhakti kept watch from above. After that, they would head to the training grounds and practice with the spear and the staff. In the evening, she would spend her time with the old woman, either walking through the village discussing various matters, or at her table, discussing matters of war.

The Yun did not have good libraries – at least by Dia standards – but they had an excellent selection of texts on military matters. Vanille threw herself into these with abandon, and then looked to the old woman for further explanation. More often than not, the old woman would also pick some campaign from the past and go through it with Vanille. There was not enough time to turn Vanille into a true Yun warrior, but Vanille's mind had always been sharp, and now, the old woman sought to hone it to a razor's edge. One more good warrior might not make too much of a difference, but one more good general was another matter entirely.

It was during one such discussion of military tactics that Vanille finally got around to asking the old woman about a phrase that she had read in many of the texts.

"Honoured elder," Vanille murmured. "What are the three questions of the Yun?"

The old woman paused for a moment, hands lingering over a map of the lands around Oerba. "Where did you hear that phrase?"

Vanille shrugged. "It was in one of the texts discussing the importance of morale. It said that the warrior spirit of the Yun can be summed up in the answers to three questions."

The old woman grinned. "Ah, yes, the three questions." She put the map aside. "It is said that long ago, a great warrior woman came to these mountains. She was the first Yun, and for many days she climbed, for she wished to conquer the mountains and reach the sky. However, the cold was great, and the air was thin, and at every turn, the dragons sought to slay her. She would have perished, but our goddess was so impressed by her courage that she spared her. In exchange for sparing her, our goddess asked the woman to answer three questions."

"What were the questions?" Vanille asked eagerly.

"Patience, young Dia," the old woman murmured. "The three questions our goddess asked the first Yun were very simple. Why did she wish to conquer the mountains? Why did she seek the sky? And why did she fight?" She smiled at Vanille. "What do you think the right answers are?"

Vanille thought for several moments and then shook her head. "I'm not sure."

The old woman chuckled. "Do not worry, young Dia, I will tell you the answers." She straightened and her voice grew strong. "Why did she wish to conquer the mountains? Because they were there unbeatable. Why did she seek the skies? Because they were unreachable. And why did she fight? So that all who would come after might remember and be proud." The old woman nodded firmly. "Those were the answers that the first Yun gave, and those are the answers we remember each time we fight. For the Yun, there is no greater glory than fighting the unbeatable, and seeking the unreachable. When we fight it should be with such courage and strength that tales are told for long after so that all who follow might remember and be proud."

Vanille swallowed thickly. There was absolute certainty in the old woman's voice. These words, the answers to these questions, they were more than words. They were a fact of life. No wonder the Yun could face impossible odds in campaign after campaign and never flinch. It was their purpose, their very reason for being. "I… I think I understand."

The old woman nodded. "Good." She reached for the map and put it back into place. "Ease your heart, young Dia. The words I have spoken are powerful, echoing as they do over countless centuries, but you already recognise their truth, even if you did not realise it until now." She gave Vanille a knowing smile. "After all, you have already lived these words. You have challenged the mountains, young Dia, and you have beaten the unbeatable in reaching the goddess. You have sought the skies, and you have reached the unreachable, riding in the claws of Bahamut. And you have fought, young Dia, and there is no doubt in my mind that all of the Yun and all of Oerba will remember your deeds and be proud."

Vanille tried to blink back tears. She failed.

The old woman sighed and reached over to wipe away Vanille's tears. "You weep so easily for one so strong." She pushed the map toward Vanille. "Perhaps it would be better if we spoke of other things. Come, tell me, what route would you have taken to Oerba?"

X X X

As the days passed, the villagers' hostility toward Bhakti faded. It helped that he was usually quite well behaved, and the prey he brought back was certainly appreciated. But what truly changed their opinion of the dragon were the children. Like most Yun children, the village's youths had grown up hearing all sorts of stories about dragons. Dragons were supposed to be fierce creatures of incredible power that had ruled over the mountains for as long as anyone could remember. To have a young dragon, perhaps even a friendly one, amongst them was both new and exciting.

It helped as well that Bhakti was still a child, at least compared to other dragon. Vanille soon realised that he looked to her as something between an older sister and a mother. He was forever trying to get her attention, and while Vanille was usually happy to indulge him, for instance by doing her reading perched on top of his back, or letting him examine her things as long as he didn't break them, she couldn't be with him all of the time.

One morning, she woke to hear laughter coming from outside her house. That in itself was something new, and she padded out to see what was going on. The sight that greeted her had her stopping and staring for several long moments. There was a gaggle of children outside her house, most of them younger than ten, and they were tossing a ball back and forth. While that in itself was not unusual, the fact that Bhakti was playing with them most certainly was. The dragon was using his tail to juggle the wooden ball in the air before tossing it gently back at the children who hastened to catch it.

As she stepped out into the open, Bhakti stopped. Around him, the children looked caught between disappointment that their game had come to a halt, and worry that she might be angry.

"Good morning," she said.

 _Good morning._  Bhakti smiled.  _I am playing ball._

"I can see that." She grinned. "Did they teach you the rules?"

Bhakti nodded.  _The rules are simple, but I don't understand how you can play properly. Your arms are so short and you don't have tails._

Vanille giggled. Trust a dragon to see things like that. She'd been about to ask Bhakti how he could play without proper hands. "Well, we do our best." She smiled sunnily at the children. "Good morning."

The children relaxed a little at her greeting. "Good morning," they chorused, bowing low. As the chosen of the goddess, custom demanded a certain level of formality.

"Now, enough of that," Vanille said. "I've been telling you that you don't have to be so formal." But in an ongoing display of typical Yun stubbornness, the children refused to budge. "I'm not angry about you playing with Bhakti. In fact, I'm quite glad. However, do your parents know?"

One of the children, a little Yun girl with wild black hair lifted her chin proudly. "I've been watching Bhakti for a while. He seems friendly, and the honoured elder said to treat him like one of us." She shrugged. "And if he wanted to eat us, he would have by now."

"I suppose he would," Vanille agreed with a grin. "But I don't think he will since I'm quite sure that he likes you."

The girl grinned back. "I like him too. He's fun, and he breathes fire. No one else in the village can do that." She tilted her head to one side. "Can you ride him?"

"Ride him?" Vanille repeated slowly. "Well, no I can't."

"Really?" The girl made a face. "But he's really big, and the stories say that the goddess rides into battle on Bahamut. You're her chosen, so I bet you could ride a dragon too." She nodded to herself. "He even brought a bear back to the village yesterday – a big one."

Vanille was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Bhakti had indeed killed a bear and brought it back to the village yesterday. The animal had been making trouble for a while now, but had somehow managed to elude the hunters. However, a dragon was much harder to avoid, and after only a few hours of searching, Bhakti had returned with his prize. Taking Vanille's advice, the dragon had made a gift of the bear, and it wasn't long before the village had made short work of the animal. The meat of a bear was supposed to have special properties, and many warriors believed that it granted great strength to those that ate it. Vanille wasn't sure about that, but she hadn't refused a portion when the old woman had offered one. After all, she needed every bit of strength she could get, and she'd certainly eaten stranger things in her time.

Still, the little girl in front of her had a good point. Bhakti was big enough to carry her, and she was sure that he wouldn't mind. However, there was a problem. "I wouldn't mind riding Bhakti," Vanille said, "But I'm pretty sure I'd fall off." It was easy enough to sit on the dragon's back when he was at rest, but in the air, she was certain she'd either fall or be blown off by the wind. He might be able to hold her in his claws, but he wasn't huge like Bahamut, so that would probably end up being quite uncomfortable. "Still… maybe I can work something out." She pursed her lips and looked back the girl. "Do you have someone here that is in charge of all the chocobos?"

The girl nodded quickly. "Lots of people keep their own chocobos, but Clasko runs the stables." She pointed toward the edge of the village. "The stables are that way, and he's there most of the time."

Vanille smiled and gave the girl a pat on the head. "Thank you. I just might have to see him when I get the chance." She looked at Bhakti. "How about you stay in the village this morning? I should be fine with Fujin."

 _Are you sure?_  The dragon looked back and forth between Vanille and the crowd of children.  _I don't mind following you while you train._

"I'll be fine." Vanille gave the dragon a reassuring look. "And if I need you, I'll just whistle. Dragons have very good hearing, don't they?"

Bhakti relaxed a little.  _Yes, but be careful. And if something happens to you, I'll be mad. I might eat Fujin._

Vanille chuckled. "No, you won't." She turned as she spotted Fujin walking down the street. "All right, it looks like I'm about to start my training for the day. Have fun, Bhakti."

That afternoon, after she'd finished her training for the day, Vanille asked the old woman if they could delay their lessons for a few hours. Naturally, the old woman was very curious. After all, she'd grown used to Vanille pestering her for more lessons, not less.

"I suppose we could," the old woman said. "But I would like to know why."

"I want to see Clasko," Vanille said.

"Clasko?" The old woman gave Vanille a curious look. "What do you need a chocobo for? If you truly need one, I have several of my own that I could lend you."

"I don't need a chocobo," Vanille said. "At least not yet." She grinned. "What I need is a saddle, a special one, and I think he might be just the person to make me one."

"A saddle?" The old woman paused for a moment and then smiled. "For Bhakti?" Vanille nodded and the old woman gave a cackle. "Young Dia, you never cease to surprise me. Very well, let us go see Clasko. I've no doubt that this will turn out to be quite interesting."

They made their way over to the stables with Fujin, and Vanille couldn't stop herself from giving a little grin. There was a stout fence in front of the stables along with several large pens for the chocobos to move about in. The stable themselves were further back, set amongst a cluster of buildings.

The guards at the gate seemed surprised to see them, but were quick to let them through. Upon reaching the stables, Vanille found herself surrounded by what seemed to be chocobos of every colour and description. There were small chocobos, large chocobos, and chocobos of every colour. It took everything she had to keep from running over and trying to pet all of them. They just looked so… so adorable.

"Patience, young Dia," the old woman murmured, amusement clear in her voice. "You may always come back here again to see the chocobos. Perhaps you might even get a chance to ride a few. You do ride, don't you?"

Vanille nodded. "I know how, but I'm not very good." She smiled faintly. "Mostly, I just like to watch. Chocobos are… are so graceful when they're running, and they're loyal too, if you raise them right."

"Indeed they are," the old woman said. "Some stories say that the gods created chocobos to keep the wind company, but I don't think that's true." She smiled. "That's what dragons are for."

"But if you've got so many, why don't I see people riding them more?" Vanille asked.

The old woman chuckled. "It would not do for our warriors to grow soft. We use chocobos when we must travel between villages, or when we are hunting truly dangerous or swift prey. For the most part, however, we Yun prefer to fight on foot. It builds up our strength, and chocobos will not always be available in battle."

Vanille looked back at the chocobos. "I've never seen so many kinds though. What's the difference between all of them?"

"You are as curious as they say, Dia."

Vanille turned. The words came from a dark haired man who looked to be somewhere between thirty and forty although it could be hard to tell with the Yun. He was broad enough of build to be a warrior, but the smile on his face was nervous and perhaps a little shy. Maybe he was like some of the chocobo trainers that Vanille had met in Oerba – more at home amongst chocobos than amongst people.

"I am Clasko," he said, "The stable master of this village." He bowed. "You do me great honour by coming here." He straightened and smiled again. "As for your question, Dia, each of these chocobos has its own purpose." He pointed to a pair of tall, powerfully built chocobos that had black feathers streaked with grey. "See them? They have been bred for heavy work. When the warmer months come and we must see to the walls around the village and our houses, it is they and their brethren who will help haul the wood and stone that we need." He pointed at another chocobo, a small, delicate looking thing with fine white feathers. "What do you think of that one?"

Vanille took a moment to try and gather her thoughts as she studied the chocobo. "I'm not sure," she said at last. "I don't really know that much about chocobos."

"Do not worry, I have been learning about chocobos for my whole life, and there is still much I do not know," Clasko said. "That chocobo is for scouting. It may seem small, but it is swift, and it was born up here in the mountains. It is so agile that beside it even a mountain goat looks clumsy."

A broad smile lit the stable master's face and he went over to one of the stables and came back with the finest chocobo that Vanille had ever seen. The chocobo had feathers the colour of lush gold, and it towered over her, its bearing proud and almost regal.

"This one is the finest chocobo I have," Clasko said. "His name is Talon, and even amongst war chocobos, his size, strength, and speed are unmatched."

"A war chocobo?" Vanille breathed. She'd heard of those, but she'd only ever caught fleeting glimpsed of them in Oerba. The Dia were a clan of healers, and though they had warriors of their own, not one of them had possessed a chocobo of this quality. This chocobo had to be the product of countless hours of training, to say nothing of the generations of careful breeding that must have been required. "He's beautiful."

"Yes, he is." Clasko grinned, pleased to have such an attentive audience. "But he doesn't look quite right until he's armoured and has a warrior on his back." He glanced at Fujin. "Perhaps you could demonstrate for the Dia?"

Fujin nodded and then looked at Vanille. "WATCH. LEARN."

Over the next few minutes, Fujin and Clasko put on the chocobo's armour. The armour itself was mostly steel, cunningly fashioned so as to offer maximum protection without restricting the chocobo's movement. Last of all, they attached wickedly sharp blades to the chocobo's talons. Even without a rider, the bird would be a very, very dangerous opponent.

"Here," Clasko said, handing Fujin a spear as she swung herself up into the saddle. "We've got some targets set up in one of the practice yards."

Fujin guided the chocobo into one of the large practice yards beside the stables. Scattered through the area were a number of stout wooden target cut into the shape of men.

"Watch closely, young Dia," the old woman said. "Fujin is every bit as good on a chocobo as she is on foot."

Fujin glanced at the old woman. "READY?"

"Whenever you are, Fujin," the old woman said. She grinned. "Show the young Dia what we Yun can do."

Fujin nodded and then let loose a wild cry. The chocobo reared and then charged straight toward the first of the targets. Fujin's eyes narrowed and her spear came up, tucked solidly against her body. A split-second later, the target exploded, torn into a thousand pieces by the force of the charge.

Vanille gaped.

But Fujin did not stop there. With an ease that could only have come from years of practice, the young woman systematically destroyed every target in the yard. She saved the best for last, hurling her spear to strike the final target right in the heart despite the fact that the chocobo was moving at a full gallop.

"I have to learn how to do that," Vanille whispered as Fujin hopped off the chocobo.

"LATER." Fujin smiled faintly. "TAKES TIME."

"Indeed." The old woman chuckled. "Indeed. But come, young Dia, we did not come here simply to admire the chocobos – admirable as they may be – you have a request to make of Clasko."

"Yes, that's right." Vanille turned her attention to Clasko. "You know how to make saddles and all that sort of thing, right?" He nodded. "Can you make me a saddle for a dragon?"

There was a long moment of silence. "What?" Clasko finally blurted. "Why?"

Vanille grinned. "One of the children gave me the idea today. The goddess always rode into battle on Bahamut, and Bhakti really likes me. I don't think he'll mind carrying me around, and being able to fly would be very useful." One thing she'd learned from all of her lessons on warfare was that mobility was key. It was hard to imagine anything more mobile than a dragon. "For example, I would make an excellent scout, and even though he's very young, Bhakti's fire is still very dangerous."

Clasko nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his lips. "A dragon rider? I don't know if there's ever been such a thing." He looked at the old woman who wore a similar smile. "But I swear that I will make you the first." He nodded firmly. "Get your dragon. I will be back in a moment."

As Clasko ran off to fetch the things he would need, Vanille put her fingers to her lips and whistled. Within moments, the air was filled with the beating of wings, and Bhakti landed in the middle of the practice yard. The dragon gave Vanille a lazy wave with his tail before turning to look at the chocobo. To its credit, the war chocobo held its ground, even as Bhakti licked his lips.

"No eating the chocobo," Vanille warned. The dragon made a disappointed sound and huffed at the chocobo. "If you're hungry, you can go hunt something later."

 _But the chocobo looks so tasty._  Bhakti's tongue flicked out and he waved one claw in the chocobo's direction.  _I could just peel off all the metal and…_

"No eating!" Vanille's voice was firm. "These chocobos are part of the village. If you want to eat a chocobo, you'll have to find one somewhere else." She turned as Clasko came back with an assortment of ropes and other things. "This is Clasko. He's going to be helping us, and if everything works, I'll be able to fly with you."

 _You'll be able to fly with me?_  Bhakti eyes widened.  _Really?_

Vanille nodded. "Yes, we'll be able to fly together." Apart from hearing Bhakti's words, she could also pick up on some of his emotions. The amount joy she'd felt coming from him at the thought of the two of them flying together was almost overwhelming. Clearly, flying together was something quite significant for dragons. "Now, can you come a bit closer so that he can try and work something out?"

The dragon was only too happy to comply, but he began to fidget as Clasko tried to tie the ropes in place. Vanille was beside him in an instant, whispering gently to soothe him, and running her hands along his flanks. Bhakti, it seemed, was not at all comfortable with the thought of being tied up, even if it was just to secure a saddle in place. In the end, his fidgeting got so bad that Vanille was forced to take over with Clasko telling her what to do.

"Do you think this will work?" Vanille asked once they'd finished.

Clasko shrugged. "Maybe. I can't say I've ever put a saddle on a dragon before."

"I suppose there's only one way to find out." Vanille climbed up onto Bhakti. "Let's hope this works."

It didn't. In fact, it was only Fujin's quick reflexes that kept her from landing on her head.

"Perhaps we should tie a rope around your waist next time," the old woman said. "Even if the saddle slipped, you wouldn't fall off completely."

"Good idea." Vanille shivered. Bhakti hadn't even gotten off the ground, so the fall hadn't been too bad. What would she have done if he'd be in the air when she'd slipped off? Fujin could hardly be expected to catch her then.

After another hour or so of tinkering, they finally came up with something that looked like it might work. Gingerly, Vanille hopped back into the saddle and tied herself to one of the ropes that looped over Bhakti's shoulders. This way, even if the saddle slipped loose, she wouldn't fall to her death.

"Right," Vanille said. "Why don't you try standing up, Bhakti?"

Bhakti nodded and lifted himself into a standing position. For a moment, Vanille thought she might lose her balance, but she tightened her hold on the makeshift reins and managed to stay put. She took a few deep breaths. So far, so good, but the hardest part was still to come. Swallowing thickly, she looked to the old woman for support.

"The skies await you, young Dia." The old woman chuckled. "Let us see if they are truly as unreachable as they seem."

Vanille did her best not to tremble. "All right, Bhakti," she whispered. "Let's fly."

Bhakti roared and heaved himself up into the air. It took everything Vanille had just to stay seated and for a moment, a single frozen moment, they hung suspended in the air. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the raw heat radiating off him, and then his wings began to beat, a thunderous sound that washed away everything else as they shot up into the sky.

They were flying.

Flying.

Vanille screamed as Bhakti's wings beat even faster, and their already swift ascent grew swifter still. The wind whipped past, tearing at her cheeks, her eyes, her hair, and half of her body felt frozen from the cold that seemed to fill the sky, while the other half felt as though it were burning from the heat that rose from the dragon's body.

 _Free._  Bhakti roared again.  _Free._

Vanille looked down and gulped. They were already hundreds of feet above the village, the whole thing so small that she could barely make out the people. What would happen if she fell from this height?

 _Look._  Bhakti jerked his head forward.  _Look._

Vanille looked up and gasped. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. The mountains were spread out before them, a vast, seemingly endless chain of rock and ice that rose to pierce the very clouds. Below them and before them was snow, an enormous carpet of white, dotted here and there by trees and rocks.

They swept past one of the mountains and suddenly there was a waterfall beside them, a rushing, pounding column of water so close that she could almost reach out and touch it. And then they were rising higher, passing over a flock of errant chocobos that clung to the upper slopes of the mountain.

They shot through a cloud, Vanille laughing at the sensation of it as moisture clung to her face and clothes. On the other side of it was the sun, and now, with the dusk so close, the whole sky was lit with a dark palette of oranges and yellows. It was a painting come to life, a sight she'd seen hundreds of times before, but never quite like this.

"Faster," she whispered softly. She had dreamed of flying before, had experienced it once when Bahamut had carried her. But this was different somehow. This was better. "Show me, Bhakti. Show me how a dragon flies."

 _Hold on._  Bhakti laughed.  _And we will fly as dragons do._

Bhakti was true to his word. They tore through the sky, so swift that Vanille could barely even comprehend what was happening. How could anything move this fast? Then they dove, and Bhakti dropped into the middle of a light forest and wove through the trees, more agile than anything his size should be. Mere moments later, they were shooting over a fast-flowing river, and she couldn't help but cry out in delight as Bhakti reached down, and poked one claw into the river. Water shot up in a tall, icy spray, and Bhakti gave one last roar before he angled back toward the village.

There was a fairly large crowd waiting for them as Bhakti landed in front of Vanille's house. She stumbled off the dragon's back, but her legs were still a little wobbly, and she would have fallen if it were not for Fujin. Finally, after a few minutes, she was able to walk again.

"FUN?" Fujin asked softly, putting herself between Vanille and the crowd.

Vanille giggled. "Very."

Fujin sighed and pointed at Vanille's head. "HAIR."

"Oh." Vanille hurried to tidy her hair as the old woman and Clasko came forward.

"Shall we call this a success?" the old woman asked.

Vanille looked back at Bhakti. The dragon had a huge grin on his face. "I think we can." She grinned at Fujin. "Maybe next time Fujin can come with me."

Fujin just shook her head. "GROUND SAFER."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> Well, it's been a while (certainly longer than I would like). This chapter, I went back to Vanille. Now, I know some of you are wondering when she's going to get out of the village, but there's a certain amount of groundwork that needs to be done. She is no longer just some Dia healer. As the chosen of the goddess, she has responsibilities, and the old Yun woman is not about to let her leave the village before she's ready. That said, there's more than enough excitement in the village for Vanille to deal with.
> 
> I thought for a while about what sort of personality I wanted Bhakti to have, but in the end, I decided that a childish personality was the best way to go. Not only is Bhakti very young (for a dragon), but I also think it suits the purposes of the story very well. Vanille likes taking care of things and having Bhakti be a mature, calculating dragon would have made it much more difficult for her to get along with him. The village would also have been a lot more reluctant to accept a dragon that showed some of the more… dangerous traits that a dragon could have. Naturally, Bhakti's childishness also explains his reactions to the other characters. Vanille is his big sister/mother figure, Fujin is something of a rival (for Vanille's attention), and the old woman is someone to be respected (keeping in mind that she was one of Fang's chosen in the past).
> 
> With regards to the three questions of the Yun, these were inspired by Rider's philosophy (from Fate/Zero which everyone should watch because it is awesome). I also think they quite neatly capture what make the Yun (and Fang) so revered amongst the clans. For them, facing the impossible is not something to be scared of – it is something to be cherished, even sought.
> 
> Finally, I should point out that Fujin is from FF VIII and Vanille is from FF XIII. The stable master, Clasko, is actually from FF X and FF X-2 where he happens to be a chocobo breeder.
> 
> Also, I would like to take this chance to redirect you to Sadistic otaku's deviant art page (sadistic-otaku . deviantart ) – they've been kind enough to put together a picture of Bahamut that has the dragon looking appropriately toothy and gigantic (don't forget to take out the spaces in the URL). If you have any fan art or anything, just let me know and I'll try and mention you, and if you want to make any fan art or anything, go ahead, but do please acknowledge me and drop me a link.
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	10. The Worth Of A Name

**The Worth of a Name**

Serah shivered, and pulled her cloak more tightly about her shoulders. The warmth of the early afternoon still lingered, but confronted with the task before her, she felt precious little of it. The Forest of Ancients was a place of nightmares, never spoken of in anything but hushed, frightened whispers. No one had ever entered the elder wood and lived, and there she was sitting on a wagon at the very edge of it.

From a distance, the forest had risen in a boundless wall of trees towering up to the very cusp of the sky. Up close, it was an even more imposing sight. The trees were so tall that even after tilting her head back up, she could only barely see the tops of them, and the very tallest trees were lost, swallowed up by the darkness brought on by the onset of evening. The trees were thick too, each easily wider than the wagon. It hurt to think of how old the forest must be, of how many seasons it had seen. It was an old place, a place where the power of the gods still lingered.

And the trees were not alone. Shadows clung to the forest, shadows of an altogether different sort. These shadows were not formed by any absence of light. Instead, they possessed an almost positive quality, as though they were wrought of the presence of real darkness, something physical and whole. The silence that seemed to fill the air was much the same, less the absence of sound, and more the presence of something far more ominous. It frightened her on some base, instinctive level. Every scrap of instinct that she possessed screamed at her to run, to get as far away from this place of ancient power as she could. If she entered, she would die, and most likely within moments.

But she did not run because she was not alone. A goddess sat beside her, and with Lightning there, Serah was certain that no harm would come to her. Whatever gods held sway here, whatever power they possessed, she was certain that Lightning would protect her. To be sure, there was strength to be found in the titan trees and the ancient secrets they hid, but the goddess at her side commanded the very skies themselves. What were trees before the storm?

"We have dawdled long enough," Lightning murmured. She glanced back at the small blue rose she had picked several hours before. The flower had not wilted even a little. In fact, it looked every bit as fresh as it had the moment she had picked it. "We should proceed."

Serah tried to keep her voice steady. "All right."

Lightning must have sensed her unease for the goddess's expression softened just a fraction. "You need not worry. No harm will come to you."

Serah nodded slowly, and urged the chocobos forward. It was one thing to know that Lightning would protect her, quite another to hear the words from the goddess herself. There were stories of trickster gods, but she knew somehow that Lightning was not like that. After a moment of hesitation, the chocobos lurched forward, their eyes drawn to the dark forest around them. Night was almost upon them, and if they were lucky, they might across a stream or clearing to make camp in.

Yet as they continued through the trees, Serah could not shake the sensation that they were not alone. Perhaps she was simply over thinking things, but for a forest so thick, their path seemed unusual clear. It was almost as though a trail had been cleared, but who could possibly have made such a thing? And then there was the noise. As the edges of the forest vanished, giving way to the forest proper, the silence had faded, and in its place, the air was suddenly alive with countless sounds. Her hearing was not good enough to make sense of it all, but she was certain that she could hear growls and whimpers, and even the hushed rhythm of whispered speech. And below all of those there was another sound, low and sonorous, like the sound of water rushing through a deep well.

"What is that sound?" Serah asked softly.

Lightning listened for a moment and then spoke. "This is an old forest, Serah, and it remembers. It remembers the days when Cocoon still hung in the sky. It remembers the days when gods walked the earth and men trembled in their presence. And it remembers the days too when a goddess came and tended a small grove not far from a spring of clear, pure water. The forest remembers all these things and it whispers them. Trees do not forget, Serah, and they have much to say to those who know how to listen."

It was rare indeed for Lightning to speak so much on any matter, and once again, Serah wondered just how much the goddess knew of these matters. The comments Lightning had made about the roses, her seeming familiarity with this place, all those things suggested that perhaps Lightning knew who had made this place.

Should she ask? Serah pursed her lips. She did not wish to offend Lightning, yet her curiosity was very quickly getting the better of her. Finally, she could contain herself no longer. Besides, speaking helped beat back the unease slowly but surely filling every part of her being. They should not be here. "Was it always like this?"

"No." Lightning turned her gaze to the forest around them. High above, the trees formed a single great canopy, a vast roof of wood and leaves that cut off the light of the stars. In place of the stars, there were flowers and mosses of countless varieties that clung to the upper parts of the trees, all of them glowing faintly, mostly in shades of blue, green, or red. "A long time ago, this whole place was nothing more than an open plain. A great goddess came here and tended to a few trees. With her power, this forest was born." Her eyes narrowed. "And she is still here."

"Did you know her?" Serah winced as some unreadable emotion flashed through Lightning's eyes, accompanied by a tightening of the goddess's lips. Yet almost at once, Lightning's expression was once again calm, almost cold.

"Yes, I did." Lightning looked away, and for a moment, her gaze was filled with a sorrow so deep and all encompassing that only a god could have felt it. Then her eyes were ice again. "I knew her very well. But those days are gone, and I have slumbered long." She paused and her jaw clenched. "We did not part on good terms."

"Oh." Serah wasn't quite sure how to take that. She had never seen two gods fight, but the stories of such battles were legendary. The great canyon that split the deserts to the southwest was said to have been created during a petty squabble between two gods. "Is there going to be trouble?"

"She was not the vengeful kind," Lightning said quietly. She looked ahead. "There is a small clearing not far from here with a stream close by. We should make camp there."

Serah grinned and peered ahead. She couldn't see a thing, but the goddess had vision far keener than hers. "Good."

The clearing was small, but just large enough for them to set up camp properly. But as they went about the task of setting up camp, Serah's eyes kept drifting to the forest around them. Her senses felt addled and confused. It was the strangest feeling, as though someone were standing behind her the entire time. But there was something familiar about it. Not about the forest, but about the power that seemed to run through it. She sighed. She must be more unsettled than she thought. There was no way that anything here could be familiar to her. She'd never been here before.

"You are right to be wary," Lightning said as she prepared their evening meal. It was a hot stew made from an assortment of herbs and rabbit. "We are not alone."

"We aren't?" Serah gulped and reached for her sword, but Lightning stopped her.

"They will not harm you. They can sense that you are mine." Lightning's lips curled faintly. "They make dislike strangers, but they understand what I am, and they are not so foolish as to challenge a god." She stood and scanned the darkness around them with eyes keener than any mortal's could ever hope to be. "There are twelve of them, although earlier there were more. Some have returned to a settlement north of here."

Serah moved herself a little closer to Lightning. The thought of being watched by the dark creatures of the wood was not one she savoured. Certainly, the stories had nothing good to say. "What are they?"

"I do not know what they call themselves now, but once, they were called Cetra," Lightning said. "They are children, of a sort, of the goddess who created this place. As for what they are, they are less than gods, but more than men." She handed Serah a bowl of stew. "You should eat and then rest. We have many days of travel ahead of us, and you will find yourself tiring swiftly in this place."

Serah nodded, and turned her attention to her meal. As always, it was seasoned just how she liked it, though she had never told Lightning of her preferences. After dinner, she retired for the night and left Lightning to keep watch.

It was only when Serah had fallen asleep that Lightning rose from her place beside the fire. Once more, she turned her eyes to the forest around them, and she let her voice take on that terrible yet beautiful quality that belonged only to the gods.

"Go back to your goddess," Lightning said. Around her, the forest grew still and silent. A god spoke now, and even this oldest of forests would take heed. "Tell her that Lightning has returned. She will know of whom you speak."

There was silence for a moment longer, and then a rustle as the figures hidden in the trees vanished and headed north. Lightning watched them go, and then turned her gaze back to Serah. She found herself kneeling over the young woman, her hand only a hair's breath away from Serah's cheek. She knew exactly how it would feel to lower her hand just a fraction more, but she could not bring herself to do it.

Whatever comfort their similarities might bring her, the Serah before her was not the Serah she had known. That Serah was gone, and only the shadow of her memory remained. Yet what a shadow it was. Lightning stood, and in the skies above, the clouds began to darken. A god did not have the luxury of forgetting. Every mistake she had made, every wrong decision – all of it was burnt into her soul. She would not make those same mistakes again.

And yet, perhaps she already had. The man in town… Snow. Her fists clenched, and despite how foolish it was, she felt her gaze drift back to Serah. This was no time for memories, but as the forest around her whispered of days long lost, she found herself drawn back into the past. A sad smile crossed her lips. No god had ever crafted a prison so fine as the one she had wrought of her own memories.

X X X

Lightning forced herself not to scowl as the lesser goddesses who served as her attendants hastened to clear the corridor ahead of her. There was fear in their eyes, never mind the fact that she did her best to treat them well and would never strike one of them, no matter how poor her mood. And her mood was very poor indeed. It took all of her focus to keep her powers from spilling out and altering the weather around Cocoon. Certainly, the High Mother would not be pleased if a bolt of lightning damaged her home.

With no small amount of difficult, Lightning forced herself to calm. It was pointless to be angry when she had no means of changing the situation. The High Mother had foisted some young goddess upon her with the expectation that Lightning would take her in and dote upon her like some dutiful older sister. She clenched her fists. True, the young goddess looked very much like a sister of hers would look, but Lightning was no doting sister. Her place was on the battlefield, in the raging chaos of battle. Her faith in the High Mother remained absolute, but she could not help but wonder if this was not some elaborate joke. Perhaps Fang was involved, it would certainly be like the other goddess to concoct some fiendishly clever scheme to goad Lightning into a fury.

Yet despite her resolve to remain calm, she felt fresh displeasure brew inside her as she reached the practice yard she maintained within her home. The young goddess was there. Her eyes narrowed. For the past month, she had been enforced to endure the other's company, to tolerate her. In truth, she did not see why she should have to. Lightning had duties to attend to, and there were others far more suited to the care of children. Yet now she found herself stripped of her duties, confined to Cocoon to care for this young goddess – a goddess who did not even have a name yet. Did the High Mother expect her to handle that as well?

Lightning knew very well the favour that she enjoyed with the High Mother, but it was hard not to see this as some sort of punishment. Had she failed in her duties somehow? If she had, she could not see where. She had even carried out the High Mother's sentence upon the children of Jenova, though she preferred not to think of it. Time had lessened the horror of her actions, but not much. The High Mother's explanation – that she had given Lightning the young goddess so that she might have something to care for – did little to soothe Lightning's wounded pride. She had her duty to the High Mother and her responsibilities as a goddess of Cocoon. Surely, those were enough.

And so for the past month, Lightning had endured. She was not given to speaking with great frequency, and yet the young goddess was always pressing her for words. Even meals – which Lightning preferred to eat alone and in comforting silence – were not safe. The young goddess insisted on eating with her, and would never stay silent for more than a few seconds. She would speak of flowers, and dreams, and soft things – but what did Lightning know of those? Her world was one of crystal and steel, of thunder and lightning. There was no softness in her soul, and she was keen to keep it that way.

Worse, when Lightning's silence continued or some fraction of her displeasure crossed her face, the young goddess would recoil as though struck. It made Lightning feel almost ashamed. She did not like the young goddess, but she did not wish any particular harm on her. She simply felt that the young goddess would be better off elsewhere in the care of one more suited to her needs. Yet sometimes, as the young goddess slunk off, her hurt radiating off her, Lightning would remember that first meeting of eyes. The young goddess had looked upon her and known her for who and what she was, and she had not been afraid. Now, the young goddess looked at her with hurt and fear, like so many others did. Only where the cold looks of others had never harmed her before, she felt something inside her soul cry out when the young goddess turned away. It infuriated her.

Right now, however, the young goddess was in the practice yard fumbling with a sword. Some of the lesser goddesses were trying to teach her, but their efforts seemed to be largely wasted. Even taking into account her tender age, the young goddess's efforts were almost painful to look at. Rather than say anything – and risk those blue eyes filling with hurt once more – she concealed her presence and watched from behind one of the pillars that lined the practice yard.

"You know, you could instruct her yourself."

This time, Lightning made no move to hide her displeasure as she turned and scowled at Fang. The other goddess had continued to appear with alarming regularity. Still, it was not like Lightning resented Fang's company that much. In a strange way, the other goddess was one of the few that Lightning felt she could trust. Whatever tension existed between them, Fang was every bit as honourable as she was, if a great deal more mischievous. It helped too that Fang never looked at her with fear. For as long as Lightning could remember, other gods had looked at her in a mix of awe and fear. News had spread of what she had done, of the sentence she had carried out, and now many of the gods looked at her with barely concealed terror. They were probably worried about her turning on them, which was sheer foolishness. Her sword belonged to the High Mother. Only the wicked had reason to fear.

"Her swordsmanship is pathetic," Lightning said. "She has no idea at all of what she is doing."

Fang leaned against one of the pillars and watched the young goddess practice. She winced. "Perhaps it is, but perhaps you are being unfair. She is young yet, and she has had no proper instructor." She slanted a look at Lightning, something searching in her emerald eyes. "Did you know that she admires you?"

"Admires me?" Lightning frowned. "She is a nuisance. She will not stay silent for even a moment, and when I do not hasten to reply, she immediately looks as though I have dealt her the gravest of injuries." She scowled. "And as of late, I think she has become afraid of me."

Fang met Lightning's gaze, and Lightning had to fight the urge to shiver. More and more Fang had been looking at her like that, and more and more Lightning wished she would not. It was like Fang could see into her soul, and it wasn't clear if she liked what she saw. "Can you blame her? The young are naturally given to flights of fancy, and all you have done is scowl and snarl. One would think that the High Mother had set this young goddess upon you as some sort of punishment."

"Has she not?" Lightning growled. "I know she has her reasons, but I am the Sword of the Heavens, her Blade to be turned against her enemies. I have no business with the young."

"You have business with Aerith," Fang pointed out, smirking that infuriating smirk.

"As her guardian, not a sister or a parent." Lightning looked back at the young goddess. "And Aerith is content with silence. She does not prattle on needlessly."

"Aerith is very good at understanding people," Fang replied. "And no doubt, the High Mother warned her about your temperament." Fang wasn't joking either, she had actually spoken to Aerith about this, and the High Mother had indeed given Aerith advice on how best to deal with Lightning. So why had she not given the young goddess in the practice yard such advice? "And as for this being a punishment, you should know better." Fang let her voice and expression grow serious. "The raising of another god is an honour of the highest order. Only the most favoured of the High Mother's children are entrusted with such a duty. And the young goddess does admire you, Lightning. When I meet with her, you are all she will speak of."

Lightning's eyes widened. "Truly?"

Fang nodded. "She asks about your armour, your sword, your duties – even about how you keep your hair so vibrant." She laughed. "It is quite endearing, actually."

"When do you meet with her?" Lightning asked softly. In truth, she had been somewhat lax in her duties. So long as the young goddess stayed within the safety of her home, she did not pay her overly much attention.

"Whenever I can." Fang's eyes hardened a fraction. "You have been given a great gift, Lightning. We gods are often forced to walk the roads of eternity alone – there are many who would kill for the gift that your treat so poorly." She smiled faintly. "Besides, I plan on introducing her to Aerith soon. There are few gods so young as them, and I think they will get along quite well."

Lightning was taken aback. It was rare for Fang to be so harsh with her. True, the other goddess could be aggressive with her speech, but for the most part, her tone was teasing. She bristled and crossed her arms over her chest. "You overstep your bounds, Fang of the Heavens."

Fang just stared back. "And if you will not raise her, Lightning, then do not be offended when another chooses to do so in your place." She smirked. "I have always wanted a sister."

"You dare?" Lightning felt something dark and terrible well up inside her, and suddenly she was shoving the other goddess back. "The High Mother gave her to me. She is mine."

Fang simply smiled and plucked Lightning's hands off her. "Then I suggest you do something, or else I will." She chuckled. "I will even give you advice. Try to talk, at least a little, and do your best not to scowl. It frightens people."

Lightning growled. The consequences be damned, she wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off Fang's face. A bolt of lightning should suffice. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm, and then strode out into the practice yard. As much as it galled her to admit it, Fang was right. She had been squandering a great opportunity. Besides, this duty had been given to her by the High Mother. If she wished to uphold her own honour, she had no choice but to give it her best, and so far, she had not done that. As she drew near, the lesser goddesses paused in their instruction, and with a flick of one hand, she waved them away.

"You," Lightning said, stopping a few feet from the young goddess. "You are doing it all wrong."

The young goddess's eyes widened and then began to shimmer. "I…"

Lightning bit back a scowl. She had not meant to sound so harsh. Her life thus far had been one of order. For the most part, protocol governed the way she addressed others. Fang was the greatest exception to that rule, and the other goddess seemed to enjoy Lightning's harshness. But there was no protocol for dealing with a younger sister, and clearly, the young goddess did not enjoy the way she was being addressed. Sighing, Lightning did her best to soften her tone.

"Your swordsmanship is unacceptably poor." Lightning gestured and one of the lesser goddesses tossed her a sword. She caught the weapon effortlessly. "If you are my sister then you must learn how to handle a sword properly." She glanced at the young goddess who had ceased her sniffling to stare at Lightning in a mixture of disbelief and awe. "Well, do you wish to learn or not?"

"Yes!" The young goddess practically tripped over her own feet in her eagerness. "Please, teach me."

 

Lightning's gaze narrowed. "You are young, but you are also a god, and my sister no less. I will not tolerate weakness, nor will I tolerate laziness. If you give me anything less than your absolute best, I shall cease teaching you immediately."

The young goddess bowed her head. "Please, I promise to do my best."

Lightning nodded back. "Very well. I will hold you to your word."

And with that, Lightning began to show the young goddess the most basic positions and techniques of swordsmanship. It was tiresome in a way, for Lightning had long since mastered these things, yet it was soothing also for there was a simple purity to be found in the practice of swordplay that Lightning had yet to find anywhere else. Much to Lightning's surprise, the young goddess was not actually as terrible as she had first appeared. True, she was small and weak, but she was attentive, and at least here, the young goddess seemed to understand the importance of quiet.

A few hours later, however, the young goddess slumped to the ground exhausted. Lightning stopped and turned to watch as the young goddess pushed herself back to her feet, and raised her sword again. The young goddess's arms trembled with the effort, and for the first time, Lightning felt some measure of respect. For all her small size and irritating conduct, perhaps there was a warrior inside the young goddess.

"That is enough," Lightning said softly as she reached out and took the sword from the young goddess. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Fang was still there watching, an unreadable look in her eyes, but a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Have I done something wrong?" the young goddess whispered softly.

Lightning looked once more at the young goddess. There was no fear in her eyes now, only a desperate need for acceptance. This young goddess needed her, Lightning realised, and not for the power that Lightning possessed. She needed Lightning because she was Lightning. For some reason or another, despite how badly she had treated her, she mattered to the young goddess. The realisation was at once deeply troubling, and incredibly humbling. There was the beginning of some other emotion there too, something far more fragile, yet infinitely more beautiful. It was strange and almost unwelcome, but she could not quite bring herself to crush it.

Lightning looked away. "Training when you are this badly exhausted will only lead to injury, which will hamper your improvement. Rest, and tomorrow morning at dawn, we will continue your training." She turned and began to walk out of the practice yard. "No sister of mine will be anything less than magnificent with a sword."

And so it continued. For months, Lightning taught the young goddess, and as she taught, she remembered. It had been so very long, but Lightning had not always been strong and powerful. She had been young once, and in her youth, the High Mother had trained her. She did her best to draw upon those memories, but though she tried, she could never strike the perfect balance between gentleness and firmness that the High Mother had. Instead, her training was harsh, perhaps even brutal, and more than once she had to carry the young goddess back to her chambers. It was during those times that Lightning saw the fear in the eyes of her attendants. If she could treat her sister so poorly, what might she do to them? But for some reason, she never saw fear in the young goddess's eyes again. It only mattered that Lightning spent time with her, that Lightning did not ignore her anymore.

Meal times were no longer quite so bad. The young goddess came to understand that Lightning enjoyed the quiet, and so she would wait until Lightning had finished eating before speaking. She learned too, that Lightning was far more likely to listen to her if she chose her words carefully and did not simply blurt out the first thing that came to mind. It was during one conversation after dinner that Lightning first realised that the young goddess possessed a quick and agile mind. In addition to teaching the young goddess about swordsmanship, Lightning added lessons on armour and tactics, and even history, and whatever else the young goddess seemed to express an interest in. At the very least, the young goddess seemed to enjoy reading, and it certainly helped keep her quiet. Naturally, Fang was unbearably smug about the whole thing. She had been right, and she never missed an opportunity to let Lightning know about it.

Eventually, the High Mother deemed Lightning's progress in this most recent task sufficient to allow her to return to her normal duties. Her first mission was to apprehend several gods that had seen fit to terrorise some of the mortals. Tracking the rogue gods down had not been hard, nor had apprehending them been difficult. However, they had refused to come quietly, and she had been forced to take action. The resulting battle was quite messy, and she returned to Cocoon drenched in divine blood, none of it her own.

In the past, there had been no problem in simply returning home to deal with the mess, but she had hardly set foot inside when the young goddess came out to greet her. For a moment, Lightning could only stand there at the threshold of her own home. She had made a great deal of progress with the young goddess, had perhaps even come to enjoy her company a little. But now those days were surely gone. Even the lesser goddesses that served as her attendants were afraid of her when she came in like this, the young goddess would be no different.

"Leave us," Lightning growled at the lesser goddesses who had stopped to stare. "Now." As they hurried away, she turned her gaze to the young goddess. "You may leave too if you wish."

But the young goddess did not. Instead, she came forward, and with a small cloth she had pulled from within her robes, she began to dab at some of the blood splattered across Lightning's armour. Just the sight of it was so utterly bizarre that for a moment, Lightning could only stand there in shocked silence.

"Stop," Lightning said at last, kneeling and taking the young goddess's hands in hers. "You will get blood on your hands."

The young goddess looked down at her hands. Some of the blood smeared on Lightning's gauntlets had rubbed onto her hands. "I already have."

Lightning stared at the blood smudged onto hands so much smaller than her own and flinched. Unbidden the thought came that hands like that should never have blood on them. "Enough, I can see to it myself."

As Lightning tugged the cloth out of the young goddess's hands, the young goddess continued to watch, her blue eyes shimmering in the darkness left by the recent setting of the sun. "Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" Lightning asked.

"What you do." The young goddess tilted her head to one side.

"Only if I make a mistake," Lightning replied softly. The cloth was wholly inadequate to the task at hand. "I am strong, so it is rare that I am injured."

The young goddess shook her head slowly. "Not that kind of hurt." She touched the place over her heart. "I mean here."

Lightning was silent for a long, long time. The cloth dropped from her hands. "Sometimes," she said quietly. "I feel empty inside." Why was she even answering, what hope could the young goddess have of understanding?

The young goddess began to weep, and Lightning could not stop herself from reaching out to brush the tears away. Thankfully, she remembered the blood on her gauntlets, and had the sense to take them off. The young goddess's cheek was soft beneath her fingers, her tears warm. "Why are you crying? Did I frighten you?"

The young goddess shook her head and clutched at Lightning's hand. It was so much bigger than hers. "I'm crying because I'm sad for you."

"Why?" Lightning felt that same unnamed emotion she had felt only a few times before, stronger this time, reaching out for the young goddess in front of her with longing. No one had ever been sad for her before.

"Because feeling empty inside hurts." The young goddess looked away. "When I first came here, and you were mean to me and didn't like me, I felt empty. It hurt. I don't want you to feel like that."

Lightning trembled. Was this what the High Mother had spoken of? Was this what Fang had meant? She swallowed thickly. "Thank you."

The young goddess put on a watery smile. "It's all right. I don't feel empty anymore, so neither should you."

Lightning stared down at the young goddess in front of her and struggled not to shake. Many times she had sparred against the High Mother, and never once had she won. Yet no defeat had ever left her this humbled. She was not worthy of this. No one was.

And she had not even given the young goddess a name.

"Come here," Lightning whispered, opening her arms. The young goddess did not hesitate, and Lightning scooped her up, lifting her easily as she strode out of her home. A moment later, they were rising up into the night sky.

"Where are we going?" the young goddess asked.

"Do you know why they call me Lightning?" Lightning asked.

The young goddess nodded enthusiastically. "Fang told me! It's because you are the mightiest of the gods of lightning. The High Mother gave you that name because it is what you are." She pursed her lips. "Is that why they call her Fang?"

"Yes, because she is the Fang of the Heavens." Lightning adjusted her hold on the young goddess, cradling her against her body with one arm as she raised the other toward the heavens. "A name is important. A name carries power."

The young goddess looked away. "I have no name."

Lightning's lips curled and she let her power shape the sky around them. "You will have one."

The sky tore. Great glowing ladders of white-hot electricity raced from horizon to horizon. Peals of thunder shattered the clouds, and wind and rain tore past. Through it all, the young goddess did not flinch, even when the lightning came only feet from them. Instead, she was enthralled, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and delight.

"Why are you not scared?" Lightning asked quietly.

"Because you are the lightning," was the young goddess's reply. "And you will never hurt me."

Lightning laughed softly. The young goddess had spoken the words with such absolute faith. "I see." She closed her eyes and listened. Each flash of lightning was a tribute to her, a testament to her power, a howl of her name. Let the young goddess have something else. Let her have the thunder. And so, Lightning listened, listened until the storm around them became a maelstrom of raw power and fury. And within that tumult of power and fury, she heard a name, a name she had been waiting her whole life to hear, even though she hadn't realised it until then.

"Serah."

The young goddess looked at her. "What?"

"Your name will be Serah," Lightning said.

Tears trickled down the young goddess's face until they were swept aside by the rain and the wind. "Serah…" She trembled like a little bird against Lightning. "Why Serah?"

"Does it trouble you?" Lightning asked. The young goddess shook her head at once. Lightning smiled faintly. "There can be no thunder without lightning. I am Lightning, and Serah is the name I heard carried on the thunder. It is fitting, I think."

Serah threw her arms about Lightning. "Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you."

Lightning nodded. "Call to the heavens, Serah. You are my sister. They will answer."

For the first time in her life, Serah called out to the heavens, to the storm that raged around them. The storm thundered its reply.

X X X

Lightning shook her head and returned once more to the present. How deeply those memories cut. The coldness she had worn like a mantle for so many years had been cast aside by Serah's unshakable affection. Her sister had become everything that the High Mother had promised she would. Lightning had been happy, truly happy, even if Serah had ended up better with the bow than with a sword. The younger goddess had even befriended Aerith, and the two had become very close.

And then everything changed.

Lightning clenched her jaw. She would not think of how things had ended. She would not think of how she had lost her sister. For now, she would think of the present. Soon, Aerith would come to her, she was certain of that. They had words to exchange, and she could only hope that Aerith was in a mood to listen. Her gaze drifted back to Serah, who was still sound asleep, and she wondered if Aerith would see the same things she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> This chapter is one that I've been waiting quite some time to write. At last, we have some idea of who the old Serah was and why she was important. However, it should also be clear why the relationship between her and Lightning is a potentially dangerous one. By giving Serah to Lightning, the High Mother has shown Lightning what it means to have a family, to have someone who loves her unconditionally simply because of who she is. You can imagine then what would happen if that someone were to be taken away. Indeed, the way that Lightning acts in the present shows exactly what would happen. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Lightning's emotional evolution (honestly, it feels strange to write that phrase – it makes her sound like a pokemon) is definitely one of my favourite things to write for this story.
> 
> As an aside, the way this story is structured reminds me of another one of my stories, Sailor Moon: Requiem of Silence. That particularly story has three separate timelines woven into the chapters (against the two of this story), and I am not ashamed to say that when I started it, I was probably not quite up to the task of writing it. Certainly, juggling multiple timelines is an interesting mental exercise, and I think Whispers of the Gods has benefited greatly from my prior experiences in that regard (in terms of what not to do). For those readers awaiting the continuation of Sailor Moon: Requiem of Silence – there is an ending planned, but there are difficulties in trying to tie together three separate timelines into a single, coherent ending. I do, however, intend to finish it at some stage. Whispers of the Gods has an altogether more manageable ending, one that I have known since the very start – it is the bits in the middle I have had to make up as I go along. In fact, it was the ending of this story that occurred to me first, followed swiftly by the beginning.
> 
> On another note, the previous chapter was one of the most poorly received chapters (in terms of hits and reviews and other statistics of that nature). I am curious to know what the problem with it was, mainly so that I can rectify it in the future. The only chapter to receive a worse response was the chapter involving Sazh (and the problems there were much easier to identify). I enjoy writing, but I also wish to improve, and feedback does help in that regard, especially when it tells me what not to do. On a less serious note, I've found that I've begun to capitalise the 'L' in lightning, even when not referring to the character. Interesting.
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	11. Lightning Without Thunder

**Lightning Without Thunder**

It was well past midnight when Lightning heard the first whispers of Aerith's approach. They were carried on the wind and echoed by the trees. Her lips curled. How fitting, for here in the forest, every blade of grass, every leaf, every tree, every single living thing answered to Aerith.

Lightning looked to where Serah lay sleeping in the wagon. The mortal's breathing was deep and even, and Lightning used the barest fraction of her power to ease Serah into a deeper sleep. Later, perhaps, she would allow Serah to meet Aerith, but for now this would be a meeting between gods.

The whispers grew louder, and for a moment the forest seemed to quiver in anticipation. Then the trees at the edge of the clearing parted, and Aerith was there. She looked almost exactly like Lightning remembered her. Her hair was still a fine, lustrous shade of brown, and her eyes still gleamed more brightly than emeralds. But there was a shadow upon her now, one that could only have come from centuries of struggle. Even gods, it seemed, could tire.

But that was not the only change. Centuries ago, Aerith had favoured the flowing white robes of Cocoon, but now she wore a pink dress, a garment at once simple yet elaborate in its cut. It framed her body perfectly, and Lightning saw at once that it was not the sort of thing to wear into battle. Then again, what need did Aerith have to dress for battle when the entire forest would rise up in her defence?

"It has been a long time, Lightning." Aerith voice was barely more than a whisper, yet the words seemed to fill the forest, to ring out from tree to tree.

"Yes, Aerith. It has." Lightning stood. She was still taller than Aerith, but the vast gulf in power she'd once sensed between them was all but gone. Aerith had grown very, very strong. "Your Cetra are more numerous than I remember."

Aerith laughed softly, the sound like the rustle of an autumn breeze through fading leaves. The forest laughed as well, a susurrant chuckle that echoed through the dark. "Indeed they are, and my forest has grown as well." She looked past Lightning toward Serah. "So… this is why you have awakened."

Lightning moved to block Serah from Aerith's sight. She felt a tremor run through. There was such pity in Aerith's eyes – pity for her, and Lightning had always hated pity. What good was it?

"I know she is not her." Lightning's jaw tightened, and for a split-second her control over her powers slipped. Above them, a single peal of thunder rattled the sky.

"Do you?" Aerith murmured, and there was genuine curiosity in her voice. Her gaze softened as she walked past Lightning and sat on the edge of the wagon, less than three feet from Serah. Almost without thinking, she reached out to run one hand through Serah's hair only to stop just shy of it. "She looks exactly like her. I imagine she even acts the same."

Lightning settled back onto the edge of the wagon beside Aerith as she felt the weight of ages settle upon her shoulders. She was strong, yet there were burdens that even her shoulders could not bear. "Yes, they are very similar." She trembled and fought to keep her memories at bay. Those days were gone, and what little happiness she had known would never return. She had seen to that herself.

"Has she taken to the sword?" Aerith asked.

"As though she already knew that to do." Lightning could not stop the faint smile of pride from slipping across her lips. Serah had learned more quickly than any mortal should.

"I see." Aerith smiled, but it was a sad smile, and slightly bitter too. "The soul remembers, Lightning, through all the long and broken centuries, it remembers, even if it can never be the same." She looked back at Serah and sought to burn every feature into her memory. "I miss her too."

"You should." Lightning despised the hardness in her voice, the cold that seemed to seep into every word. She was not the only one who had lost Serah. "You were her best friend, and even when I…" She dragged in a deep breath and felt an almost mortal weariness slip over her. "Even then you stood by her." Unspoken of course was the truth – Lightning had not.

"She never hated you," Aerith said. She looked at Lightning out of the corner of her eye. The other goddess had an icy beauty, the kind better captured in fine marble than mere canvas. But Lightning's heart was the very opposite. It had none of the ruggedness of marble. Instead, it was like a gem, coldly magnificent yet impossible to repair once broken. "And perhaps, if anyone is to blame, it is I. After all, I was with her the day it all began." She chuckled softly. "Yes, I remember it perfectly…"

X X X

Aerith bit back a giggle and followed Serah deeper into the marketplace. To the mortals around them, they were nothing more than a pair of young women just shy of twenty, but that couldn't be further from the truth. They were goddesses, each with a few centuries under their belts, and they were the very best of friends.

She smiled. It wasn't especially surprising that they'd become friends. Young gods were rare indeed, and although Serah had been quite timid to begin with, Aerith had insisted on getting to know her. She'd been absolutely sick of dealing only with gods that had lived centuries, perhaps even millennia longer than her. True, Fang and Lightning always treated her well, but it just wasn't the same as having a friend who was almost the same age and interested in the same sorts of things as her.

And as the years had passed, they'd only grown closer. It helped a lot that Serah was no longer almost painfully shy. Once Lightning had accepted her, she'd become much more outgoing and confident. Then of course, there was Fang. The goddess of the wind seemed to delight in causing mischief, and in Aerith and Serah she found two very willing apprentices. Not only did both of them enjoy the High Mother's favour, but Serah could always run to Lightning for protection.

No god or goddess was foolish enough to threaten Serah in Lightning's presence – never mind how justified their ire might be – and Lightning could never bring herself to punish Serah with any degree of harshness. Aerith thought it was actually quite adorable. Lightning might maintain an air of splendid isolation around others, but regardless of her duties, she always seemed to find time for Serah.

It was another incident of Fang inspired mischief that had led to her and Serah fleeing to this marketplace on Gran Pulse. Fang had noted in that sneaky way of hers that certain gods were far too tense. A little bit of excitement would doubtless do them some good. The first target to come to mind was of course Lightning, but even Serah had balked at that. Instead, they'd chosen Vincent, a god of blood and darkness, who was especially well known for his crimson cloak. With Fang's help they'd managed to turn it pink for the day.

Vincent had not been pleased.

He'd come after them and Fang had somehow managed to spirit herself back to her mountain without anyone noticing. That left Aerith and Serah to bear the brunt of Vincent's ire and with Lightning away carrying out a task for the High Mother, their only option was to flee Cocoon and hide on Gran Pulse until the notoriously grumpy god calmed down.

"Do you think he will find us here?" Serah asked. Her eyes were darting from one food stall to another. Mortal food might be a little coarse by divine standards, but it had a certain charm to it.

Aerith grinned. "I doubt it. Vincent hates crowded places." She scowled. "Although I cannot believe that Fang ran away like that. She is supposed to look after me, not leave me to deal with the consequences of a prank she helped carry out."

Serah chuckled. "Would you have stayed if you could fly away like she can?"

"Good point." Aerith giggled. "I am a little surprised you did not run away either."

Serah shrugged. "I still cannot move as fast as my sister." She sighed. "I am not sure if anyone can." She paused for a moment and then pointed toward the centre of the marketplace. "Do you hear that, Aerith? What do you think all of the noise is about?"

Aerith followed Serah toward the centre of the marketplace. It appeared to be some kind of special ceremony. After listening briefly to the words spoken by the mortals up on the large stage in the centre of marketplace, she could only shake her head in dismay. The mortals, it seemed, had something of a problem with a hydra. Rather than appealing to the gods for help, they had decided to send one of their own to deal with the problem.

Now, unlike many of the gods, Aerith truly appreciated mortals and what they could accomplish – Fang had seen to that – but even one of Fang's Yun would have been hard pressed to kill a hydra alone. Not only were hydras huge, they had acid for blood and could spit deadly poison over a considerable distance. Usually someone like Fang or Lightning was dispatched to deal with any troublesome hydras, so it was unlikely that a lone mortal could accomplish much other than dying.

Aerith was about to turn away from the spectacle when she noticed the odd look on Serah's face. Puzzled, she examined the mortal that had been chosen to fight the hydra a little more closely. He was certainly very large, taller than almost any man Aerith had seen, and broad of shoulder as well. He was handsome she supposed, at least by mortal standards, with clear blue eyes and pale blonde hair. He was well muscled too, and he handled the massive broadsword he held with ease.

Still, that did not explain Serah's reaction.

"Serah," Aerith whispered. "You are staring."

Serah flushed, but continued to stare regardless. "He is rather handsome, don't you think?"

Aerith shrugged. "For a mortal, I suppose." She paused. "Perhaps we should follow him to the hydra. I doubt he will be able to do much, but together we should be able to handle it. At least that way he might actually survive."

Serah nodded a little too quickly for Aerith's liking. Although it was not unheard of for gods to take mortal lovers, no children could ever come of such a union, and she knew that Lightning would take a very dim view of her sister taking a mortal into her bed. Indeed, the man would be lucky if he got within three feet of Serah without being struck by a bolt of lightning. Hopefully, it was merely a passing fancy, something they might speak of and laugh about once they returned to Cocoon.

"All right," Serah said.

They followed the man as he left the town and headed into the dark forest nearby. As they delved deeper into the forest, Aerith took the lead. Over the years, her connection to all manner of living things had only grown. There was not a tree in the world that would not heed her voice, and every single garden on Cocoon had felt her touch.

As they neared the centre of the forest, they came to a great cave. But to Aerith's surprise, rather than try and sneak in, the man simply stood at the front and bellowed his challenge.

"Come out, vile beast!" the man roared. "Come out so that I can kill you!"

"What is he doing?" Aerith whispered. "He is going to get killed."

Serah's eyes were bright. "He is very brave."

Aerith disagreed. Fang had taught her very early on that bravery was not always a good thing in battle. It might be brave to try and fight someone like Lightning head on, but Aerith knew that she had absolutely no hope of beating the older goddess in a fair fight. If she wanted to win, she would have to rely on surprise and trickery. Likewise, the man should have realised that he couldn't possibly beat a hydra in open combat. Instead, he should have tried to sneak up on the foul creature and take it by surprise.

There was a sibilant hiss before the hydra revealed itself. It slunk out of the cave, coil after immense coil of it. It stood perhaps fifty feet tall, its entire body covered in scales that could shrug off any mortal weapon, and many divine ones too. Its heads, all three of them, swayed through the air, the amber eyes locked onto the man in front of it.

"What now?" Aerith asked.

"Give him a chance," Serah murmured. "I think we should give him a chance."

It was madness, but before Aerith could say a word, the hydra struck. It lashed out with one of its heads, the jaws wide open to devour the man whole. But at the last second, he leapt clear. The force of the attack tore a chunk out of the ground, and the man lunged forward to bring his sword down on the hydra's neck. His aim was true, and his whole body was behind the blow, but the strike bounced off, sparks flying from the impact. Still, the man was undeterred, hacking and slashing until the hydra's second head forced him back.

The hydra seemed more amused than anything by the man's attacks, and almost playfully, it lunged forward again. But the man had learned. Rather than strike at the hydra's almost impenetrable scales, he aimed at the hydra's eyes. The broadsword found a home in one of the hydra's eyes, and the beast gave a single, piercing shriek of agony. It flailed and the man crashed into a tree with terrible force. But for a mortal he was resilient, and as the hydra roared, blood pouring from a wound that had already begun to heal, Aerith saw a grim smile cross his face.

"So you can bleed after all." The man laughed. "If you can bleed then you can die. I'll show everyone that gods aren't the only ones who can be heroes."

Aerith glanced at Serah. The words were bold, even blasphemous, but the other goddess seemed entranced. Serah's cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone, and Aerith felt another chill crawl down her spine. She had heard idle gossip of love, or perhaps lust, at first sight, but she had never given it much thought. Perhaps she should have, for Serah seemed to be experiencing it, and Aerith was certain no good could come of it.

She wanted to believe that Lightning would not begrudge her sister a lover – indeed almost all gods indulged from time to time – but she felt certain that Lightning would never agree to Serah taking on a mortal lover, especially one that Lightning did not know very well. If Serah had to take a lover, Aerith felt certain that Lightning would insist on someone she knew very well, someone she could trust. But there were few that Lightning trusted. Fang perhaps? Lightning did trust her, and the goddess of the wind was supposedly quite gifted in such matters, though Aerith had never thought to inquire too deeply. And of course there was her. Aerith flushed. She and Serah had exchanged a few… clumsy kisses her and there, but they were friends, and had never gone further than that.

A roar from the hydra drew her attention back to the battle. The man had managed to avoid the hydra's poison and wound its eyes several more times, but none of the wounds seemed to last. Aerith was about to suggest they intervene when the man pulled a gourd of oil from his belt and doused his blade in it. With a strike of the weapon against a nearby rock, the man set the weapon ablaze, and when next he put out one of the hydra's eyes, the ruined eye did not heal. Aerith smiled. Clever. Fire greatly hindered a hydra's ability to regenerate.

But even though it was blinded in one eye, the hydras had five others, and now that it had been wounded in earnest, it had no reason to hold back. It drove the man back mercilessly with clouds of vile poison until finally it was able to catch him with a sound blow across the chest. The blow shattered the man's armour and hurled him into a nearby boulder. There was a sick crunch, but somehow, the man managed to find his feet, though he was clearly too dazed to defend himself.

"We must help him," Serah cried, casting aside the glamour that veiled her power.

Aerith nodded quickly. "Very well."

The hydra rounded on them at once. A single mortal was no great threat, but two gods, even fledglings like them, were another matter. But even as the hydra turned, Aerith called to the land around them. There were countless seeds buried in the earth, many of them long dead, but with her power, she nourished them, and brought them to life once more. Scores of vines ripped out of the ground and bound the hydra in place. It snarled and tried to spit poison, but the vines raced up its necks to tie its mouths shut.

"Strike, Serah!" Aerith shouted.

The other goddess nodded and lifted one hand. Although Serah was quite accomplished with a sword – Lightning had seen to that – her true talents lay with the bow. Even amongst the older gods, there were few, if any, who could match her skill, and Aerith could still remember the day when Lightning had proudly informed the High Mother that Serah had surpassed her skills with the weapon.

To commemorate that occasion, Lightning had given Serah a gift. The older goddess had created a weapon worthy of Cocoon's finest archer – a bow patterned after the Sword of Gathering Storms. The resulting weapon, the Sky Piercing Bow, was the envy of countless gods, a testament to the affection between the two sisters.

There was a crack of thunder before the bow formed in Serah's hand. It was a single, gleaming arc of purest crystal, and as Serah drew the bow up into a firing position, a bowstring of raw electricity formed together with a needle-thin arrow of lightning. A low hum filled the air along with the scent of ozone. Serah took a split-second to aim, and then she fired.

The result was impressive.

There was a crackle as the arrow raced forward in a trail of white-hot electricity. It struck the hydra square in the chest and there was an almighty boom before the hydra's entire form was bathed in lightning. The scent of scorched flesh filled the air, and chunks of molten rock flew every which way. The hydra toppled to the ground. Before the power of Serah's bow, its scales had been almost completely destroyed, and the flesh beneath was burnt almost black. A second shot did more than kill the hydra – it almost obliterated the corpse.

Aerith eyed the smoking crater with distaste. The smell of burnt hydra was incredibly bad. "We should go. The High Mother will want to know of this."

Serah nodded then stopped. "What about him?" She glanced at the man who was lying against a rock, his eyes wide with awe.

"Fine." Aerith sighed. "But be quick."

Aerith watched closely as Serah knelt by the man's side. He seemed to be utterly enchanted, not that she could blame him. Serah was standing before him in all her divine beauty, and even for a goddess she was beautiful. Though her features were similar to Lightning's, they were softer somehow, kinder. Lightning might very well be the epitome of martial beauty, but Serah was a vision of gentle femininity. And unlike Lightning, Serah could use her powers to heal.

It took Serah only a few moments to see to the man's injuries, but as she moved to back away, he reached out and caught her wrist with one hand. A shiver seemed to run through both of them, and for a long, long moment, they seemed to gaze only at each other.

"Please," the man whispered. "What is your name, goddess?"

Serah trembled. "I am Serah, sister of Lightning."

"Serah…" the man whispered the name like a prayer and let go of Serah's wrist. "My name is Snow."

"Snow?" Serah smiled softly. "A good name." She backed away. "I need to go now."

"Will I ever see you again?" Snow asked. "I… you saved my life."

Aerith stepped forward, putting herself between Serah and Snow. "Serah, we need to go."

Serah nodded. "Yes, yes, of course."

But even as Serah called the lightning that would carry them back to Cocoon, Aerith could feel Snow's eyes on Serah. She wanted nothing more than for her friend to be happy, but this could lead to nothing good. There was more than mere lust at work here, she could feel it, and love between a mortal and a god was doomed to fail. Aerith sighed. She needed to talk to Fang about this.

She would also need to keep a closer eye on Serah. If she was right, then the other goddess would be finding any number of excuses to come back to Gran Pulse.

X X X

"I have thought of that day many times," Aerith said. She shook her head slowly. "And that was when it all began - The Fall of Cocoon. Everything." She closed her eyes. "And I am sorry that I did not tell you about it sooner. Perhaps if I had…"

Lightning chuckled softly, but there was no mirth to it, only a deep and bitter regret. "We all made mistakes, I more than anyone." She looked back at Serah, watched the rise and fall of the young woman's chest as she slept. Hand trembling, she reached out to cup Serah's cheek, but when Serah shifted to press herself into Lightning's palm, the goddess recoiled as if burnt. "When I found out what she was doing with that… man." Her lips drew back into a snarl. She would not speak his name. "I reacted poorly."

X X X

Lightning stepped into the home that she shared with Serah. For centuries it had been hers alone, but now it was theirs. She smiled faintly. From the moment that she had accepted Serah as her sister, her life had changed. The weight of her duty no longer seem quite so heavy now that there was someone who would never look upon her in fear or reproach. Truly, the High Mother had been wise to give Serah to her.

As she stepped into the house, she looked around for Serah. The younger goddess insisted on meeting Lightning after each of her missions. It did not matter how long Lightning was gone for, how bloody she was when she returned, or even what time of day she returned – Serah was always there to greet her.

Yet when several moments passed and there was no sign of Serah, Lightning felt the first stirrings of unease. Had something happened? She had been away for several weeks, so it was possible that Serah had been assigned some task to perform, which would explain her absence. Lightning was also several days early. In the past, she had adhered rigidly to the schedule set before her, but with someone to return to, she often found herself trying to complete her missions more quickly.

She was just about to extend her senses in search of Serah when one of her attendants, a lesser goddess, stepped forward to greet her.

"Where is Serah?" Lightning asked. Perhaps her sister had been involved in another prank. If there was anything about the younger goddess that Lightning disliked, it was her tendency to be a little mischievous. She scowled. It was all Fang's fault. The goddess of the wind answered to no one save the High Mother, and at least some of that attitude had spread to Aerith and Serah. It did not help either that Lightning could not bring herself to punish Serah for such transgressions.

The lesser goddess remained silent.

Lightning's eyes narrowed. "Speak. Where is my sister?"

Again, the lesser goddess said nothing, but Lightning could see a tremor run through her.

"Did she order you not to say anything?" Lightning asked, a cold, heavy feeling settling in her gut. The lesser goddess nodded. "I see." Why would Serah hide something from her? Unbidden, her power rose, the air was suddenly thick and heavy. "You know who I am. My sister may have ordered you not to speak, but I am ordering you to tell me where she is."

"Gran Pulse." The lesser goddess dropped to her knees, unable to stand in the presence of Lightning's power. "She is on Gran Pulse."

Lightning reined her power in. "Gran Pulse?" Her lips drew into a thin, hard line. "Then that is where I will go."

Eyes closed, Lightning reached out with her senses. She had long been able to sense Serah's presence regardless of how far apart they were, but she seldom did so out of concern for the younger goddess's privacy. After all, if Serah needed her, then she needed only to speak Lightning's name and Lightning would be there to aid her. A heartbeat later, she found Serah, and then she was gone, leaving only a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning in her wake.

As she raced toward Gran Pulse, Lightning was hard pressed to keep the icy calm that she was so famous for. Over the past two years, Serah had spent more time on Gran Pulse than was normal for a god, but Lightning had ascribed it to simple curiosity. After all, Aerith seemed to enjoy wandering amongst the humans, and she and Serah were best friends. Likewise, Serah had often spent time with Fang's Yun.

But why would Serah order their attendants to keep her whereabouts a secret? It made no sense. True, Lightning felt no great attachment to the mortals, but she had never shown displeasure at Serah's spending so much time amongst them. Perhaps she was over thinking this. The High Mother must have given Serah some task that needed to be kept secret. Yes, that was surely the case. Serah would not have wanted her help completing a task from the High Mother. She would have wanted to do it herself.

Any moment now, she would arrive, and Serah would explain, and Lightning would feel like a fool for having doubted her sister for even a moment.

Lightning landed with a crunch, and for a second, she could scarcely believe what she saw before her. Then it sank in, and she was filled with a fury greater than anything she had ever known.

Serah was lying underneath a tree, resting upon the chest of a tall, powerfully built mortal. A blanket had been draped over them, but it was obvious that beneath it, neither of them were clothed. Nor could Lightning's divine senses miss the scent that still lingered in the air, to say nothing of the sheen of sweat that clung to her sister's skin, or the flushed cheeks and swollen lips that left no doubt as to what had just happened.

Her sister had taken a mortal lover – and she had said absolutely nothing about it to Lightning.

"Serah…" Lightning rasped as she stepped forward. At her feet, the grass smouldered, set alight by the electricity that crackled over her body. In the sky, the clouds grew dark, and from the horizon came the rumble of distant thunder. "What is this?"

Serah stared at Lightning for an instant, and then she was up on her feet as the mortal man scrambled back. Lightning snarled as she took in her sister's unclothed state. But when her sister summoned her own armour, some small measure of Lightning's fury gave way to confusion. Had her own sister just taken up arms against her? And why did her right hand feel so heavy? Slowly, she looked down at her right hand. At some point, without even realising it, she had summoned the Sword of Gathering Storms, and although the weapon had yet to release even a fraction of its power, it was no wonder that Serah had armoured herself. The mere presence of Lightning's sword could be taken as a threat. Swallowing thickly, she forced herself to dismiss the blade.

"Serah," Lightning growled. "We are leaving."

"But –" Serah cast a frantic look at the mortal man who seemed as though he wanted to intervene, but realised how futile it would be to even try.

"I said," Lightning snarled as she strode forward and grabbed her sister by the arm. "We are leaving!"

And with that, the pair vanished in a haze of radiant electricity. They reappeared in the central courtyard of their home on Cocoon, and their attendants scrambled for cover as Lightning's power lashed at the house and garden.

"Lightning, please," Serah begged. "Calm down!"

The house trembled beneath the force of her power, and for a moment, Lightning was tempted to blast all of it apart. It was only the look of… of fear on Serah's face that stopped her. She dragged in a deep breath. Serah should never be afraid of her. She forced herself to calm, but when she spoke, there was an ugliness in her voice that she had never heard before, something that went beyond mere coldness. It was betrayal, she realised. She had never loved anything enough to feel betrayed before, but now she had been, and the sting of it was too much for her to bear.

"What were you doing?" Lightning spat. "And with a mortal no less."

Serah lifted her chin defiantly. "He is my lover." She paused. "And his name is Snow."

"Your lover?" Lightning's hands tightened into fists, and for a moment she feared she might slap Serah cross the face. The thought sickened her. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No, I have not." Serah stood firm, even as the skies grew black. "He loves me and I… I love him too."

"Love?" Lightning laughed, but it was a hollow, empty sound. Her ears rang. She wanted to stop herself from speaking, but the words were spilling out of her. "What do you know of love? You are a child. And how can you love him? How long have you even known him?" The words burned her tongue, and still they would not stop. "There is no love between you, only foolishness."

"I have been meeting with him for two years," Serah said. "And he does not care that I am a goddess. He loves me for who I am, and he makes me feel special. He makes me feel… loved."

"And I do not?" Lightning spat the words. "Of all things in creation, I love you the most." She dragged in a deep breath. "And when were you going to tell me, Serah?" She laughed, but there was more than a tinge of wildness to it as she took in the guilty look on her sister's face. "You were never going to tell me, were you? And what about the Fang and Aerith, did they know? Did you see fit to tell them?"

"Lightning, I –"

"So they did know?" Lightning eyes flashed and she felt her blood rush through her veins like so much molten lava. Glowing bolts of lightning raced through the sky overhead. "There are so few that I trust, Serah, so few that I consider friend, and now… now what? How can I trust them anymore when they have kept something like this a secret from me? You have left me with no one to trust, no one to whom I can turn for the truth." She laughed coldly. "You should be proud, sister. In centuries of battle, no one has ever wounded me as deeply as you have."

Serah flinched as if struck, and for a moment, Lightning felt a savage stab of satisfaction. Good, let her hurt, let her know what it felt like to be betrayed. Lightning had trusted Serah with everything, and this was how she had been repaid. She had been treated like a fool while her sister dallied on Gran Pulse with some mortal warrior.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Serah cried. "I did not want to worry you. I knew you would be angry and –"

"Of course, I am angry!" Lightning bellowed. She took one step toward Serah and stopped. If she touched Serah now, she would hurt her, she was certain of that. "For two years you have lied to me. You, Serah, have lied to my face. How times did you lie when you said you were going to Gran Pulse with Aerith or Fang? How many times did you go to see him?" She dragged in a ragged breath. "And worse, you tell me you have fallen in love. You fool, there can be no love between gods and mortals, you know that. If you feel the need for someone to warm your bed then find a god – there must be many who would be willing!"

"I do not want another, I want him!" Serah growled. "And only him!"

Lightning's jaw tightened. Serah shared more than her affinity for lightning, the younger goddess's temper could be ferocious when it was aroused, and now it was out in full force. But Lightning's fury was greater still, and when she spoke, her voice was filled with icy rage, a cold, cruel anger that made each word bitter poison. "And what will you do, Serah, when he grows old and withers, when all the years of his life are done and still you remain? What then, sister of mine?"

Lightning had expected a harsh reply. She had expected Serah to rage, to scream, to roar. Instead, all she received was silence, and it was the silence that turned her rage into horror.

"You cannot be considering what I think you are," Lightning whispered. Her fury was gone, and in its place was a terror so great she could barely breathe. She grabbed Serah by the arm. "Tell me you do not mean to give up your divinity!"

Serah's silence was answer enough.

Lightning reeled away. She sank back against a pillar. Her chest ached. Her ears rang. Her vision darkened.

"I want to live with him," Serah said. "I want to have his children and do all the things that mortal couples do."

Lightning barely heard the words. Gods could not have children with mortals, and gods were all but immortal, but in the past there had been gods who had wanted to live mortal lives. A god's divinity could not be taken away, not even by the High Mother and High Father, but it could be given up. A god who gave up their divinity would become mortal, but the process could never be reversed. They would live and die as a mortal, their soul bound to the endless mortal cycle of death and rebirth.

"You will die," Lightning whispered. "You will fade as mortals must, and you will be born again and again into a life of suffering and weakness and pain." She felt sick. "You are mad."

"It is my choice," Serah said softly. "I love him and he loves me. If our love is true then I will be born again and again, but each time my soul will find his, each time I will know the happiness that only his love can provide."

"If he truly loved you, he would tell you to remain a god," Lightning roared. "He would tell you to live." She stood shakily. This was too much. She needed time to think, to plan. She refused to believe that Serah meant what she had said, that she would truly give up her divinity for a mere man. "Enough of this foolishness, Serah. You will go to your chambers and you will not leave unless I say so. We will speak more of this, and you will see sense."

"Lightning –"

"Go, Serah!" Lightning bellowed. "I will hear no more of this."

Yet in the weeks that followed, Lightning could not make Serah see sense. It seemed that behind her back, her sister had already made the arrangements, for although a god had to consent to give up their divinity, only the High Mother or High Father could actually carry out the procedure. She had approached the High Mother and begged – she, Lightning had actually gotten on her knees and begged – her to forbid Serah from giving up her divinity. But the High Mother had refused to do such a thing, and had even agreed to carry out Serah's wishes. It was yet another betrayal, one that she could scarcely wrap her mind around. For centuries she had served with absolute loyalty, and yet now, when she wanted a single favour, it would not be granted to her.

Her only option then was to deal with the very source of the problem, to deal with this… Snow.

She waited patiently until both Fang and Aerith were too busy to interfere, and then she went to Snow's home. She blew the building apart within moments of arriving, but somehow he managed to survive. He scrambled from the wreckage, whispering prayers and apologising, even trying to reason with her, but she did not care. He would die, and with him her sister's foolish thoughts of becoming mortal. The High Mother would certainly punish her for this, but it was a small price to pay to keep her sister by her side.

She was about to strike him down when there was a crack of thunder. Serah had followed her! She turned just in time to see a glittering arrow before it struck her in the chest. The force of the blast hurled her back and cracked her armour. She skidded across the ground, uprooting trees, and ripping a deep trench in the earth. With a growl, she forced herself up onto her feet. Such a blow would have killed a lesser god.

"What are you doing?" Lightning whispered. The skies had grown dark, and the scent of ozone filled the air. "I have to do this, Serah. I will not let you leave me."

Tears trickled down Serah's cheeks as she levelled her bow at Lightning. "Do not make me choose."

Lightning stared at her sister. They stood no more than fifty feet apart, yet now there was a gap between them that even a god could not cross. Slowly, she reached up to touch her cheek before she looked up at the sky. It wasn't raining, so why were her cheeks wet? She was crying, she realised. She had never done that before.

The sky rumbled and rain began to fall, mingling with her tears. How fitting. "You have already chosen, Serah." Lightning felt hollow. "And you have chosen him." She glanced at Snow and then looked back at her sister. "I hope you realise what you have chosen, sister. You will walk the path of a mortal beside him, and if you are lucky, it will be a good life. You will love him and he will love you, and you will have many children. Then you will die, and if the fates are kind, in your next life you will find each other again. But me… there will be no such happiness for me. I will walk the path of a god, Serah, and I will walk it alone, and it will go on and on, loneliness and suffering without end." Lightning swallowed thickly. "That, sister, is what you have chosen."

"Lightning…" Serah lowered her bow. "I am sorry… I…"

"My sister is dead." Lightning forced the words out even as the pain in her heart grew almost too great too bear. "She died the moment she took up arms against me, the moment she chose a mortal over me. From this moment on, Serah, never speak my name. Do not even think of me. Cry out to the heavens if you wish, lay claim to the storm, but know that I shall never answer again." Lightning called for the lightning, called for it to take her as far away as it could. "These tears of mine are the first and last that I shall ever shed for you."

And then she was gone.

For a full month, Lightning refused to return to Cocoon. Instead, she wandered a vast desert and there, she gave vent to her rage. It became a place of endless storms, a blasted heath of lightning haunted ruin. But still, the ache in her heart refused to subside. In fact, it only grew, especially when she felt the gentle warmth inside her that had always been a reminder of Serah's presence fade away. It was done then, her sister was a mortal now.

The High Mother sent several envoys, but Lightning turned each of them away, first with words, and then with blows. At last, the High Mother herself descended.

"My daughter, you must return." The High Mother's impossibly beautiful face was filled with gentle sorrow. It was a pity then that Lightning doubted it was real. The High Mother was not allowed to feel sorrow, not after she had helped Serah all but kill herself. "You cannot stay here."

"What is left for me?" Lightning asked. "There is nothing."

"There is duty." The High Mother met Lightning's gaze evenly.

"Duty?" Lightning spat the word. "And where was your duty to me when you helped Serah become mortal?" She flung one arm out. "I have served you, High Mother, I have served you without doubt or fail for centuries, and you have taken from me the only thing that I have ever truly loved. I want no more of your duty!"

The High Mother's eyes grew soft. "Yes, Lightning, blame me if you must. But as I had a duty to you, I had a duty to your sister also. It was her choice to make." She reached out to cup Lightning's cheek. "Perhaps I was wrong to give her to you all those years ago. If I had known how badly her leaving would hurt you…"

"No!" The word burst from Lightning's lips. "You were not wrong." As much as Lightning hated to admit it, the years with Serah had been the best of her life, never mind how few of them there were. "I… I do not regret the time I had with her. I simply never wanted it to end."

"I see." The High Mother reached into her cloak and handed Lightning a crystal pendant. "Here."

Lightning took the pendant, and shock ran through her. She recognised the power that lay within it – it belonged to Serah. "What is this?"

"It is the divine spark that made Serah a goddess." The High Mother closed Lightning's hand around the pendant. "Normally, it would be returned to me since I created her, but she wanted you to have it, and I agreed. She said that it would keep you safe, that at least this way, some part of her would never leave you." She turned and vanished like a leaf in the wind. "Return when you are ready, Lightning. Whether or not you believe it, there are those that miss you."

Lightning stared down at the pendant in her hands. Part of her wanted to hurl it away, but she could not. It was all she had left. Slowly, she crushed the pendant and let its power flow into her. She fought tears as her sister's strength flowed through her. She was stronger now, and there was a warmth inside her that had never been there before. Serah.

Perhaps she would return to Cocoon, but not yet. And if the wind carried a whisper begging for her return, she was careful to ignore it.

X X X

"So you are the one responsible for the Thunder Plains," Aerith murmured. She lowered her head. "No wonder that place feels so sad and angry."

Lightning looked back at Serah. "My grief was equalled only by my rage."

"Even so." Aerith stood. "You should bring her to the village of my Cetra. It lies to the north." Her lips curled at the edges. "There are few finer archers than the Cetra, and I have something I would like to return."

Lightning's eyes widened a fraction. "You have Serah's bow?"

"Yes." Aerith smiled. "And Lightning, you and Fang were the closest thing I had to family. You should speak with her. Whatever sorrow lies between you, whatever words you exchanged, or sins you committed on the day Cocoon fell, she has long forgiven you." Lightning looked away and Aerith pressed on. "You know I speak the truth."

Lightning shook her head slowly. "She has always been too forgiving."

Aerith smiled faintly. "Only toward you." Her expression grew serious. "But I mean it. You must speak with her. A storm is coming, one that neither you nor I can face alone."

"What do you mean?" Lightning asked.

"The High Father stirs." Aerith's eyes were cold. "I have felt him."

"Impossible," Lightning spat. "He is dead. I slew him myself."

"It would appear not." Aerith sighed. "And he has gathered followers. I do not know what he plans, but it will not be good. This world will need you again, and Fang as well, I think."

Lightning flinched at the sound of the other goddess' name. "We shall see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.
> 
> People have been asking for answers, and here is one of the bigger ones. Finally, we know (sort of) what happened to the original Serah and how she relates to the current Serah. Keep in mind, however, that we haven't heard the story from Serah's side yet, and Lightning wasn't exactly in a clear state of mind when this happened.
> 
> This was one of the trickier chapters to write, but it was also one of the most enjoyable ones too. Everything so far has been leading up to this moment, and soon, I'll be able to show you just how Serah's "death" led to the Fall of Cocoon and Lightning's slumber. In other words, this was an important milestone in the story, which should open the plot up even more. This chapter also bears a resemblance to what happened in the game on Lightning's birthday. How quickly things can spiral out of control. Personally, I wonder what Fang thinks having seen her plan to help Lightning backfire so spectacularly – give me a few chapters, and you might even find out.
> 
> On an unrelated (sort of) note, I'm finally starting to put some serious effort into getting published. I don't know for sure how things will work out, but wish me luck. I can't imagine anything I'd love doing more for a living than writing. And don't worry – no matter what happens, I'll keep writing stuff like this. The more writing the better.
> 
> Finally, for those of you who were not aware, Aerith and Vincent are from Final Fantasy VII. Also, redkid11 has a wonderful comic strip up on deviant art that covers Lightning's flashback from Chapter 10. Head on over and check it out! It's called "The Worth of a Name".
> 
> As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	12. The Broken Sword

**The Broken Sword**

Serah awakened just after dawn from a sleep haunted by the very strangest of dreams. She had dreamed of a gleaming palace wrought of crystal and set in the sky. It was a jewel more beautiful than any star, one birthed by the glory of the gods. There had been other dreams too, fleeting things, lingering things that nevertheless left her feeling as though she'd lost something very important. There was thunder in those dreams, and lightning, and a bow that could pierce the very clouds. Even now, as she sat up, she could almost feel it in her hands, along with other hands – stronger than hers – that had taught her how to use it.

But more than what she'd seen was what she'd felt. The dreams had passed so swiftly, a tide of sights and sounds and smells too vast for her to keep track of. But beneath everything there had been a deep, abiding sorrow. It was the weight of centuries of suffering, a pain so vast not even a god could have withstood it. Yet someone had, of that she was sure, and there was a presence in her dreams, cold and splendid in its isolation, that was at once achingly familiar but utterly alien.

There had been another presence in her dreams as well, one that glided against her mind. It had felt soft and familiar, like starlight on a clear winter night, or cool water on a hot summer day. It made her think of lush forests and fields of flowers.

None of her dreams had made any sense, and the more she tried to grasp their meaning, the more they seemed to slip away from her. Soon enough, only the last, lingering impressions remained. Then, even they were gone, and the world was once again as it had always been: simple and plain.

"Something troubles you."

Serah jerked back at the sound of Lightning's voice and would have fallen had the goddess not reached out to steady her. Lightning eased her back into the wagon with a strength that was far beyond human, and a gentleness that reminded Serah very much of her mother. She couldn't be sure, but there was something different about the goddess today. Had Lightning looked into her dreams?

"I… had some strange dreams." Serah flushed beneath Lightning's scrutiny. The goddess's gaze was intense but utterly unreadable, and taking in Lightning's pristine appearance, Serah couldn't help but wonder how dishevelled she looked. Certainly, she felt quite horrible, so she had to look at least a little messy. "Did anything happen last night while I was asleep?"

"Yes." Lightning turned and went to tend to a pot of water boiling over their campfire. "We had a visitor."

"A visitor?" Serah blinked wearily and rubbed at her face only to pause. Her cheeks were still damp as though she'd been crying in her sleep. "Who was it?"

"Aerith." Lightning took the pot of water off the fire and began to brew one of the teas that Serah liked. The scent of it filled the clearing and Serah sighed. Her mother had always said that a good cup of tea could make any situation better.

"Who is Aerith?" Serah asked. "The name sounds familiar, but I can't place it."

"I am not surprised. You have not met her." Lightning offered Serah a cup of tea. "She is the goddess that rules over this place."

Once again, Serah nearly fell out of the wagon, and it was only Lightning's quick reflexes that kept her from scalding herself with the tea. As it was, most of it ended up on Lightning, and Serah watched as the steaming liquid pooled on the back of Lightning's hand. A normal person would have been screaming in agony, but Lightning didn't even seem to notice.

"I am so sorry." Serah bowed her head and reached for a cloth to dab the tea away. "I – it was an accident."

Lightning voice was gentle but firm as she took the cloth from Serah. "Even now, you act as though I might hurt you. I gave you my word, Serah. You will never come to harm from me, nor should you ever fear that I will let you come to harm." Her eyes narrowed a fraction and the air grew just a fraction heavy as some small measure of her divine power spilled out. "The fact that I allowed the tea to touch me does not mean that it can do anything. There is no power that any mortal can wield that can harm me, even if my powers have yet to fully return."

On impulse, Serah reached out to touch Lightning's hand. The goddess's flesh was warm beneath her fingers, and for a moment, she could have sworn that Lightning flinched. But then the moment passed, and the goddess pulled away. "Thank you for not being angry with me. I'm still a little clumsy, I guess." She smiled awkwardly. "But you surprised me, is all. You met with a goddess, and I slept right through it."

"We gods can shatter the world in our wake, or walk through it without a sound." Lightning glanced at the forest around them. "Of all of us, Aerith was always one of the kindest, and she has invited us to the home of her Cetra. Is lies to the north of here, and we should arrive just before dusk."

"It must be close then." Serah eyed the forest. The trees were so densely packed that she could hardly imagine them making good time, not unless Lightning used her powers to clear a path for them.

"In a manner of speaking." Lightning looked back at the fire. "I will finish making breakfast. Perhaps you could use that time to see to yourself."

Serah blinked and then looked down at herself. Sometime during the night, the tunic she had worn to sleep had slipped off her shoulders, leaving her clad only in a thin, almost transparent undershirt. With a squawk of alarm, she retreated back into the wagon to change into something a little more suitable. If anything, the fact that Lightning's expression remained as serious as ever only added to her embarrassment.

After a light breakfast and the obligatory round of sword practice, the two of them continued their journey deeper into the forest. But this time, the trees seemed almost to part in their wake, and where before the forest had seemed dark and threatening, it now seemed to welcome them. Flowers in full bloom dangled from the branches overhead, and more than once, Serah caught sight of inquisitive dear and rabbits marking their approach. A curious humming bird even took a liking to her hair, though it was wise enough to stay well clear of Lightning.

"Aerith is welcoming us," Lightning explained when she caught Serah's curious look. Her eyes drifted to the hummingbird that had settled on top of Serah's head. "Though it would seem that she is still a little strange."

Serah giggled as the hummingbird hopped off her head and onto her shoulder to give Lightning what looked to be the bird equivalent of a glare. "You said that you two did not part on good terms. Were you able to… mend things with her last night?"

Lightning looked sideways at her, and Serah wondered once again if perhaps she'd overstepped her bounds. Despite her often cold exterior, the goddess was quite a mercurial creature, almost as hard to predict as the storms she ruled over. "It is never that simple for gods. We forget nothing and thus our deeds, good and ill, endure forever."

"That seems very sad," Serah murmured softly.

Lightning's gaze settled on Serah's face, but the young woman could not shake the feeling that the goddess wasn't seeing her so much as someone else far away in space and time. "It is."

They made good time through the forest, and as the sun began to set, plunging the woods deep into shadow, they reached a widening in the path. From the darkness on either side of them came figures garbed in long cloaks woven of leaves but as a fine in thread as gossamer or silk. They had chestnut coloured hair, and their green eyes seemed almost to glow as they regarded first Lightning and then Serah with something close to reverence.

"We are the Cetra." The words came from a woman who wore a pink and purple dress beneath her green cloak, and at her approach, the others bowed their heads. A small smile crossed her lips, and each footstep she took left the grass beneath her feet untouched. There was a grace about her that no mortal Serah had ever met possessed, yet it was nothing compared to that of a goddess. "Our goddess, Aerith, bids you welcome. Beyond this place lies our home, the City of the Ancients, and you are both most welcome there."

"I thought it was a village," Serah murmured as the Cetra parted to make way for them. Despite the friendly words that had been spoken, it did not escape her notice that all of the Cetra were armed, either with bows or with swords. "Besides, how could anyone build a city here?"

The answer came a moment later, and it took her breath away. Her mind told her that it could not be real, yet her eyes sought to take in every detail. The city was vast beyond any she had seen, and the buildings were of a graceful design unlike anything she had ever known. They were almost like seashells, she thought, great, soaring edifices that curved gracefully ever upward toward an enormous, wooden sky. Dozens of swiftly flowing brooks cut through the city, and rose up into the air, flowing somehow over and around the buildings, and forming vast curtains of water where men would have built walls.

Trees towered over everything, their branches and roots winding through countless buildings until they met high above the city, forming a single, unbroken ceiling of centuries old wood. And though the night was dark, the city was bright, lit by the glow of countless crystalline flowers blooming over the buildings and floating in the streams of water that floated in the air. Hundreds of Cetra walked through the streets, and as she watched, a little girl stopped and pointed, only to be hurried along by her parents.

"What do you call this place?" Serah breathed.

"It has many names."

Serah turned and then took a slow step back. There before her stood a woman, but no mere more mortal, nor even one of the Cetra. This woman was undoubtedly a goddess. Her hair fell in long waves of lustrous brown, and her emerald eyes were filled with a mix of kindness and mischief. Power hung in the air about her, but where Lightning's power drove away all things before it like a storm sweeping over the plains, this goddess's power was the warm sun on a winter day, and Serah's soul was the flower turning to meet it.

"I am Aerith," the goddess said. "Creator of this place and mother to the Cetra." She smiled. "And as for this place, it has no name in the tongues of men, for no child of man has ever laid eyes upon until now. But to the Cetra it has many names: safe haven, shelter, place of beginning… home."

"Home?" Serah whispered the word. Despite the grandeur of the city before her, the air was warm and filled with the scent of flowers. Here and there, Cetra spoke and laughed, and their children dipped their hands into rivers that flowed up toward the sky. Yes, home indeed.

"I am pleased you accepted my invitation," Aerith said, and though the words were simple, the look in her eyes filled them with greater meaning. She had not expected them to come, Serah realised.

"Your powers have grown," Lightning replied. "And this is no mere village."

There was a teasing gleam in Aerith's eyes. "Not all of us slept so long as you, and it was a village once, though it has not been for quite some time." She waved one hand and several Cetra came forward, including the one that had welcomed them before. "Ifalna, show Serah to her quarters, and see to it that she has something suitable to eat. There are matters that Lightning and I must speak of."

Serah shot Lightning a pleading look. The thought of being left in the care of the Cetra – whom she hadn't even seen until today – was a worrisome one. However, if Lightning was worried, she gave no sign. Instead, she nodded.

"Go with them," Lightning said. Her eyes softened, and Serah was struck again by the impression that Lightning was not seeing her, but someone else. "And know that no child of Aerith will ever do you harm. I will find you later."

Aerith nodded and a moment later, both goddesses vanished, leaving Serah to glance nervously at all the Cetra that had gathered around her.

"The gods have a way about them, don't they?" Ifalna said as she offered Serah her hand. "I am Ifalna, and you need not worry. I will look after you as though you were my own kin."

"Uh… thank you." Serah winced. "I'm just a little overwhelmed by all of this."

"I imagine you are." Ifalna helped Serah out of the wagon with another smile, though her eyes narrowed a fraction as Serah took care to bring her sword with her. "But please, trust us. Your goddess spoke truly, and only a fool would dare lay hands on the one chosen by the Sword of the Heavens."

"The Sword of the Heavens?"

Ifalna's eyes twinkled. "I forget sometimes that your people remember little of the gods. In the Old Days, Lightning had many titles, but that was one of her most famous ones. She was the Sword of the Heavens, the Blade of the High Mother who punished the wicked and slew those gods who dared break the divine laws of heaven."

Serah sighed. "I see. I met her only a short time ago, and there is still so much I do not understand."

"You will learn in time, I am sure of it." Ifalna took Serah's hand in hers and tugged her gently toward the city. "Now, come with me. You must be tired from your travels. We have prepared rooms for you, and if you like, you may have a bath while we prepare dinner."

There was little else Serah could do but follow as Ifalna led her through the broad streets of the city toward a towering building shaped very much like a conch shell. A river of water surrounded it, winding up into the air then falling back down in a wide, circular curtain around the building.

Her rooms were finely furnished, though the exact method of construction confounded her. Everything, from the walls, to the floor, and even the furniture, looked as though it had been grown or shaped out a single piece of material. Putting one hand on the wall, she gasped as it quivered beneath her touch. The entire building, it seemed, was alive.

Laid out on the bed were clothes in the colour and style of the Cetra. To her surprise, they fit her almost perfectly, and she marvelled at their softness. Also on the bed were a few spherical jewels that flared to life at her touch.

"What are these?" Serah asked. "I have never seen them before."

Ifalna took one of the jewels from her. "These are a gift from our goddess, forged from the blood of the world. They let us tap into the power that flows through all things." She closed her hands around the jewel and there was a flash of light before small wisps of fire formed in the air around her. "See?"

"Amazing," Serah whispered. No wonder Lightning had said that the Cetra were more than men but less than gods. "But why give any to me?"

Ifalna gave her a faint smile. "You might be surprised at what you are capable of." She put the jewel back onto the bed. "But enough of that. Perhaps you would like to bathe before you take dinner?"

"A bath does sound nice." Even though Serah was still trying to wrap her head around everything, the thought of a nice, hot bath sounded too good to pass up. Besides, she trusted Lightning. If the goddess said she was safe here, then she would be. And if there was any trouble, she was certain that if she called, Lightning would come.

X X X

"You and your Cetra have grown quite powerful," Lightning remarked. She was alone with Aerith in the other goddess's temple, a building formed out a single titanic oak that dwarfed every other structure in the city.

"We have had little choice." Aerith's eyes grew distant. "I can hear the footfalls of fate fast approaching Lightning, and the day will soon come when my strength, and the strength of my Cetra will be tested." She gazed squarely into Lightning's eyes. "I do not know how the High Father survived, but he has, and if he regains his full strength, then it will take all of us to stop him – if he even can be stopped."

Lightning nodded grimly. The High Mother and High Father had both possessed powers that dwarfed even those of gods like her. She had only been able to slay him the first time due to a grave miscalculation on his part, a mistake he would not make again. And even in his death throes, the damage he had done had been beyond calculation.

"Your people know of my past," Lightning said. "But how much do they know?"

"Little, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, but much compared to other mortals. They know that there was a goddess named Lightning who performed a terrible but essential duty without complaint or just reward. They know that you were amongst the greatest of our number, and that by your sacrifice was the High Father overthrown." Aerith paused. "Only my chosen knows of Serah, and what she was once."

"You give me too much credit." Lightning stared down at her hands. Hands that had once been stained with Aerith's blood and Fang's blood, and the blood of so many others undeserving of her wrath.

"You hold yourself to a standard that not even a god could meet." Aerith reached over and took Lightning's hand in hers. "I hurt you and you hurt me, but let that be the end of it."

"Tread lightly," Lightning warned. "You overstep your bounds."

Aerith took back her hand and inclined her head. "Perhaps I do, though I had hoped… that perhaps you might have forgiven me." Her eyes hardened. "Let us speak of matters more urgent than our past. I have already told you that the High Father stirs, but I have also learned that he is not alone. He has won Caius's allegiance."

"Caius?" Lightning all but spat the name. "How? Save myself and Fang, he was once the most loyal of the High Mother's followers."

"I do not know," Aerith replied. "And he will answer neither my summons nor Fang's." She folded her hands in her lap. "And if he has chosen to follow the High Father, then our task will be much more difficult."

"Indeed." Lightning's power stirred at the thought of battle, and on reflex she reached out with her senses to check that Serah was safe.

"If you wish to see how Serah is, you need only ask." Aerith gestured at a large pool of water nearby and an image of Serah appeared. It showed the young woman besieged by Cetra children, all of them eager to meet the first human to enter their domain. Rather than be alarmed, the pink haired woman took the children's antics in stride, and it wasn't long before she had a child in her lap, and several others clinging to her legs.

"She was always good with children," Lightning said softly. "That much is still the same."

"Yes, yes, you're right." Aerith's smile was bittersweet. "Now, let us return to more serious matters."

"Very well." But as Aerith spoke, Lightning found her mind drawn to a past far away, and a Serah she would never see again.

X X X

Lightning gazed at the lesser goddess who knelt before her. It had been five years since Serah had become mortal, five years since Lightning had last set foot upon Cocoon. The High Mother had finally given up trying to convince her to return to Cocoon, and now, when there was a task for Lightning to perform, a message was brought to the home she had carved out of the barren rock of the Thunder Plains.

And though the weight of her duty was heavier than ever, a burden so great she could feel it crushing her soul, she performed with the same, ruthless efficiency as always. For what else was there for her? The lingering warmth she sometimes felt inside from the remnants of Serah's power was only a cruel reminder that her sister was gone, taken from her, and that nothing in the world could bring her back. If she could, she would have left her duty and all that it entailed behind, but when she looked upon her life, upon the emptiness that remained, she knew that she could not. Before Serah there had only been her endless duty, and now that Serah was gone, it was to that endless duty she returned.

Perhaps the only respite her duty offered was that it took her mind from what she had lost. The number of rogue gods, both the titanic children of Pulse and those of the High Mother and Father, had increased to the point that she had begun to suspect that some dark power was at work. But the High Mother dismissed her concerns, and whispers had reached her of the mocking laughter her words had been greeted with upon Cocoon. Lightning, the Sword of Heaven they had called her once. Now, she was merely Lightning, who could not even keep her sister from the arms of a mortal. All of heaven laughed at her expense, and the cold fury inside her only grew.

So Lightning fought the rogue gods, tracking them and dealing with them as the High Mother ordered. She restrained those she could, and when the order came to send them to oblivion, she did so without doubt or hesitation. The emptiness that had once terrified her, the vast, hungry nothingness that had filled her with loathing and horror, it held no power over her now. There were even times when she welcomed it, when she would let her soul wander alongside those she condemned to the very cusp of oblivion.

But though she sought a life of solitude, there were other who seemed determined to intrude upon her. The wind was ever present, gentle at times, and harsh at others, but always it carried Fang's words to her. The other goddess begged her forgiveness and pleaded for the chance to make things right. And each time, Lightning turned away. She was a mountain, and no matter how the wind begged or wept, she would not be moved by it.

But as the months went by, long and empty, and filled only with the crack of thunder, her heart went to a time when Fang had been her only friend. She would have given almost anything for Fang then, though she had never said so aloud. But to hide Serah's affair from her was a betrayal of the worst kind. Perhaps one day, she might muster some small fraction of the High Mother's divine mercy, but not yet. If she saw Fang now, or Aerith, she would strike them, and she did not know if it would stop there.

Now another summons had come from the High Mother. There was to be a meeting of gods near the mountains of the Yun, and she had been ordered to attend. With a flick of her head, she dismissed the lesser goddess before her and summoned her lightning to carry her to the meeting.

She landed on the mountainside in a blaze of divine glory, the ground around her torn asunder as a single, jagged bolt of lightning bore her down from the sky. It was well past dusk, but as she stood, her eyes had no trouble making out the familiar forms that waited only a short distance away. Fang was there and Aerith also, and as she looked upon them, she felt the blood in her veins run cold. A dark and terrible rage bubbled up from deep within her, a rage made only more terrible by its coldness. She was going to kill them, and she could not bring herself to care.

The sky split, and Fang had barely enough time to push Aerith clear of the lightning bolt that turned a good portion of the mountain into a pool of molten rock. Then Lightning was upon her, and the pink haired goddess's first blow struck with such force that the ground beneath them trembled and gave way. Fang tumbled back, end over end, kicking up a spray of pulverised rock and melted snow, but Lightning was far from finished.

With a bestial snarl, Lightning raced forward, and as Fang fought to steady herself, Lightning hurled her against the mountain. Every moment of pain that Lightning had felt, every hour of loneliness, every shadow of regret that had stained her soul – all of it poured out of her as she rained down blow after blow. The mountain shook, and dimly, Lightning was aware of Aerith screaming, of vines bursting from the earth to stop her, but she had eyes only for Fang. Why was the other goddess crying? Why wouldn't she fight back?

With a roar, Lightning lifted one hand and the Sword of Gathering Storms came, shattering the sky in its wake. She lifted the glowing blade high, staring for one endless moment into green eyes that seemed almost to welcome her wrath, and then someone slammed into her from behind. It was Aerith.

The younger goddess fought with a furious desperation, clawing at Lightning's sword arm in a frantic bid to tear the sword from her hand. Never before had Lightning raised a hand to Aerith, but the fury coursing through her veins demanded satisfaction. With a single, brutal blow to the chest, Lightning knocked Aerith aside. The other goddess skidded along the ground and crashed through a grove of trees. Shakily she stood, and it was only dumb luck that let Aerith dodge the blow that would have parted her head from her shoulders.

Before Lightning could swing her sword again, Fang was there.

"Not her," Fang whispered. "If you must be angry with someone, be angry with me."

Lightning's hand trembled. Fang had been so quick to defend Aerith, but why hadn't she defended Lightning when she had needed it most? Why hadn't she told her about Serah? With a growl, she shoved Fang back, and as the other goddess sprawled in the mud, she brought the Sword of Gathering Storms down in a strike she knew would end in Fang's chest.

"Stop!"

Again Aerith hurled herself at Lightning, and the pink haired goddess's blow went wide, scorching a bitter path along Fang's right shoulder. Lightning steadied herself and turned, ready to strike Aerith down, only to pause.

Aerith was crying.

Slowly, the Sword of Gathering Storms slipped from Lightning's hand and landed, cold and dull in the dust. Serah had cried like that the last time they had spoken. The image was burned forever into Lightning's mind, her sister's cheeks wet with tears, her voice hoarse with a pain that was so much more than physical. To see that same look on Aerith's face was more than she could bear.

"Please stop…" Sprawled across the ground, Aerith clutched at Lightning's foot. "Lightning… please…"

Lightning sank to her knees. Her gauntlets were stained with blood – Fang's blood, Aerith's blood. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she fought to keep from retching as she took in the bruises and cuts that marred Fang's face and body, and the wounds that Aerith bore. Was this what she had become?

"Why didn't you fight me?" Lightning whispered as Fang stood and clutched at the scar already forming on her right shoulder.

"Because I deserved it." Fang's voice was soft, so soft that even as a goddess, Lightning had to strain to here it. "We didn't call you here to fight, Lightning. We wanted… we wanted to apologise."

Lightning snarled. "Apologise? How dare you!" She lurched to her feet and shoved Fang back. "You knew! Both of you knew, and neither of you said a word! My sister is a mortal now, doomed to their endless cycle of death and rebirth. There will be no end to her suffering as a mortal, no end to the cycle until creation should come undone." She looked back and forth between Fang and Aerith. "You were my friends! I loved you! Of all the gods in Cocoon, I trusted you the most, and you betrayed that trust. I should kill you both." Lightning clenched her fists. "But how can I? For who else do I have? Who else is there who can walk the endless path of the gods with me, if not you two? Perhaps one day, I can forgive you for what you have done. But not today."

Lightning turned and made to leave, but Fang caught her in her arms.

"What words can I speak, what deeds can I do to make things right between us?" Fang's lips were by Lightning's ear, and the pink haired goddess could feel the moisture of tears against her neck. She flinched. Never before had known Fang to weep. "Tell me what I must do."

Lightning shoved her way out of Fang's embrace and turned, eyes colder than the dead of winter. "Tell me why," she growled. "Tell me why she chose him and why you did not tell me."

Fang's expression fell. "We never thought it would go that far."

Despite the fury in her heart, Lightning could not miss the sorrow in Fang's gaze. For perhaps the first time, it occurred to her that she was not alone in her loss, that Fang and Aerith had lost Serah too. Ruthlessly, she crushed any sympathy she might feel. She could have no sympathy for traitors.

"We thought it would be a fling, nothing more." Fang's tone was pleading, her hands moving restless through the air as though she wished to hold Lightning once again. "Perhaps she might dally with him for a few decades, but what are a few decades to us, Lightning? I thought… I thought to let her have her mortal lover for a while, and by the time I understood her intent, there was no changing her mind."

"She was always so stubborn," Lightning whispered. She felt tired, so very tired, and hollow inside.

"Yes." Fang closed her eyes. "But you should go see her. There is something you have to see."

"I will not." Lightning turned. "I cannot."

"She still loves you, Lightning." Fang's voice was soft. "Be sure of that."

"She loves him more." Lightning gathered her powers and called for the lightning to take her far away.

"Can things ever be the same again?" Fang shouted as Lightning vanished.

Lightning spared neither Fang nor Aerith a backward glance. "No."

And then she was gone, and for weeks afterward the sound of weeping was heavy on the wind.

For two months, Lightning pondered Fang's words. There was a part of her that longed for an end to her isolation. Fang and Aerith had betrayed her, but they were all she had left save for her terrible duty. Perhaps in time, she might find it in her to forgive them, but the hurt was still too fresh, the wound still too tender. And then there were Fang's words about Serah. There was something Lightning needed to see, she had said, but was it even possible for her to see Serah again.

More than anything, Lightning feared that if she laid eyes upon her sister again, she would do something unforgivable. She had almost killed Aerith in her fury – if not for dumb luck, she would have succeeded. What would she do to Serah, the person who had hurt her the most? If she hurt Serah, if she… killed her, Lightning would never be able to forgive herself. But even if she did not harm Serah, what would she do, where would she even begin? They had exchanged words before, words that could not be taken back, and the bonds they had once shared were as dead as Serah's divinity.

What finally made up Lightning's mind was the simple fact that Serah was mortal now. Lightning could afford to linger, to prevaricate, but every moment brought Serah closer to the doom that all mortals would have to face. Closing her eyes, she reached out once more for her sister's soul. It was mortal now, but no matter how many years passed, Lightning would always know it as well as her own. She found Serah a moment later, and before her courage could fail her, she vanished in a blast of thunder.

She appeared in the heart of a shrine set in the hills by a lonely village. Over the years, she had heard whispers from the priests and priestesses who prayed to her there. They had spoken of one who shared the colour of her eyes and hair, of a young woman who could foretell the coming of storms. Serah might have become mortal, but some of what she had once been still lingered.

Silently, Lightning studied the shrine. There were fine murals painted on the walls that showed her deeds, and not far away was a statue of her that was far too accurate to have come from some artist's imagination. Only one mortal knew the planes of her face so well. Serah had helped build that statue.

The moments passed, seconds, minutes, hours – Lightning could scarcely tell – and then she sensed her sister's presence. Even in the dim light cast by the flickering candles, her divine sight told her a hundred different things, and every one of them added to the cold weight that had formed in her gut. There were the beginning of lines at the corners of Serah's eyes, and her once fair skin had tanned slightly in the sun. There were callouses on her hands too, and her gait was no longer smooth and seamless. Serah was mortal now, but even that paled in the face of what Serah held in her arms.

A baby girl.

 

"Lightning…"

Lightning drew herself up to her full height. "I told you never to speak my name again."

"So you did." Serah smiled, and Lightning felt something inside her clench. How badly she had missed that smile. "Yet here you are, sister."

Lightning's jaw clenched. "Do not call me sister."

"You are right." Serah bowed her head, though Lightning still caught the flash of pain before she lowered her gaze. "I no longer have that privilege, honoured goddess."

Lightning flinched. How cutting the words felt. Serah's pain brought her no joy, only more pain. Regardless of the words they had once exchanged, they were sisters still. At least, that was what Lightning's heart whispered, though she did her best to ignore it. "Who is that child?

Serah straightened. "My daughter."

Lightning fought down the terrible rage that welled up inside, but even so, the air around her cracked with electricity and the polished stone at her feet glowed with heat. Her sister had a daughter, one sired by that mortal buffoon. Yet when Serah stepped forward and lifted her daughter so that Lightning could see her, her anger died almost at once.

Perhaps the mortal fool had been the girl's father, but looking at her, Lightning saw only Serah. The baby girl had the bluest eyes that Lightning had ever seen in a mortal, and her hair was the very same shade of pink as Serah's. She trembled, and almost without thinking, she reached forward only to stop as the baby's gaze caught hers. There was no fear in those eyes, only a simple curiosity. Gently, the baby cooed.

"I named her Claire." A single tear trickled down Serah's cheek, and she gave Lightning a heartbreaking smile. "Many times I listened to the storm, hoping to hear your voice again, and each time the lightning flashed across the sky, I heard a whisper in my heart. 'Claire', that is the name the lightning brought me."

Lightning wanted to turn and run, but she could not. Instead, she could only stare at the child who was so very much like Serah. A quiver ran through her. Was this why Serah had given up her immortality, to have a child with that fool? Yet even as her anger stirred, she felt it calm as the baby girl's face scrunched up in displeasure at the long lock of Serah's hair that brushed across her face.

"She was born a little over two months ago," Serah said. She smiled. "Here, hold her."

"I cannot." But before Lightning could pull away, she found herself holding the baby. The girl was so fragile, and Lightning fought to steady herself. What good were hands like hers for holding a child? Her hands were for dealing out death and judgement, they had no business holding something so frail, so small, so innocent. Yet the child seemed perfectly at ease, and as Lightning ran one finger along the baby's cheek and across her nose, the girl gave a little sneeze and smiled. In that moment, Lightning was lost.

"I am sorry." Lightning looked up and her eyes widened as Serah bowed deeply, pressing her head to the cold, stone floor. When she rose, there were tears trickling down her cheeks. "There are no words in the tongues of men or gods that can express how sorry I am for the hurt I have dealt you." Serah's voice firmed. "But I love my husband, and I love my daughter, and I love you." Her voice caught. "I do not ask for you to forgive me, I only ask that any hatred you have, any anger you might feel, that all of it ends with me." She smiled. "And I make you this promise. Though I may die, though my body might wither with the passing of the years, for as long as my line should endure, for as long as a son or daughter of my blood still lives, you need never be alone. My children and their children, and their children all the way unto the breaking of the world will remember the bond that we once shared, and they will honour it if you let them." She bowed again. "And no matter how many times we are parted, I promise also, that I will find you again if that is what you wish."

Lightning looked from the baby in her arms to the mortal kneeling before her. The world turned on moments like these, and though her pride and her hate and her pain demanded that she refuse, she found her lips moving, the word spilling out of her like tears. "No other has ever hurt me as deeply as you." Her eyes closed and she thought of Fang and Aerith, and of that terrible fight upon the mountaintop. "I do not know if I can forgive you, but I love you still."

Serah looked up. "I cannot ask for more." She swallowed thickly. "Honoured goddess."

Lightning handed the baby back to Serah. "I despise your husband with every fibre of my being, but I would like to know your daughter." She paused. "Sister."

And so it came to be that Lightning took to visiting the little village by the hills whenever the opportunity arose. She still refused to return to Cocoon, and she could not quite bring herself to speak to Fang or Aerith again, but little by little, she felt her hatred begin to slip away. Serah would never be the same, and there would always be a gulf between them that no words could ever bridge, but it was better than nothing. Soon, Claire was old enough to walk and to talk, and Lightning wasn't sure whether to smile or weep when the little girl took to embracing her each time she visited.

To Claire, Lightning was not just a goddess – she was an aunt, someone she trusted and loved without doubt or reservation. It was if Lightning had been given Serah again, and when the time came for Claire to learn the ways of the sword and the bow, it was Lightning who taught her as she had taught Serah so many years ago. The girl took to the weapons as quickly as her mother had, and the only person prouder than Serah was Lightning.

But though Lightning spoke often to Serah and Claire, she never once spoke to Snow, and the mortal was wise enough to keep well clear when she visited. Even years later, when Claire was showing the first signs of womanhood, Lightning could not look upon Snow without fighting the urge to kill him where he stood. Only the thought of Serah and Claire's grief stayed her hand.

The seasons passed, one after the other, winter turning to spring and spring into summer and then to autumn and at last to winter again. Lightning did not return to Cocoon. Instead, she wandered, returning now again to the village or to the Thunder Plains as she carried out her terrible duty. Almost before she knew it, Serah was no longer a young woman, and Claire had blossomed into an almost perfect copy of her mother from her younger days, if only a little bit taller.

But even as Lightning watched Claire become a young woman of no small fame and skill, she could hear the footfalls of a doom fast approaching. Each year, Serah grew older, wrinkles forming at the corner of her eyes, and when they sparred, Serah was always just that little bit slower, that little bit weaker than before. Lightning was a goddess, eternal and unchanging, but Serah was slipping away from her, pulled ever further away by a power that not even the High Mother or High Father could halt. Some called it destiny. Others called it fate. To Lightning it was cruel beyond words.

In time, Claire married a young man from the village, and to her surprise, Lightning felt no great anger over it. She had always known that Claire was mortal, that she would love and live in the fashion of other mortals. But when Claire had a child and Serah became a grandmother, Lightning's joy was tempered by a panic so great she could scarcely breathe. And always the footsteps of doom grew louder in her ears, the endless cycle of mortal death and rebirth drawing ever closer with each moment.

She fled, unable to watch as Serah gave a dry, wheezing cough and held the baby up to eyes that had lost none of their lustre, but much of their keenness. But as always, Lightning came back. More than ever, she was desperate to hold on to what moments she could have with her sister, and so she set aside her duty, sending away every messenger of the High Mother as the day of Serah's passing grew ever nearer.

Snow passed away first, and not long after, Serah took ill, and nothing Lightning tried could save her. Fate had decreed her sister's passing, and all Lightning could do was watch as the cycle of death and rebirth stole her away.

"Thank you for staying," Serah whispered.

"Did you think I would not?" Lightning's voice was calm, almost cold. She was holding Serah for the last time, and both of them knew it.

"I had hoped you would." Serah's eyes drifted closed, and Lightning's heart felt as if it would burst. The years had carved wrinkles across her sister's face, and her once fair skin was tanned and weather by long years in the sun. But even now, on her deathbed, there was something in Serah's soul that called out to Lightning, but with each moment it ebbed a little, pulled relentlessly away by the chains that shackled all mortals. It was the destiny of a mortal to die and to be reborn, over and over again, and even the gods could not change that.

"You are dying," Lightning whispered.

Serah nodded slowly. "I am." Her eyes opened and her expression grew rueful. "Even now, you look the same, but I can still feel the hurt inside you." She put one hand on Lightning's arm. "I am sorry for the pain I caused you, but I do not regret the life I lived nor the child I had." She glanced past Lightning to Claire who standing by the door. "I only regret that we have to part."

"I hated Snow." Lightning's eyes hardened for a moment and then grew soft. "But not Claire. She was always yours daughter more than she was his."

Serah chuckled softly, and Lightning could feel the touch of death drawing near. She wanted to rage, to howl, to scream. But death yielded to no one, not even her, and even gods could die. "We will find each other again, for even if I am no longer a goddess, I am still your sister. We will find each other again, and perhaps in that next life we can be happier." She grinned. "Though you will likely spoil me rotten again."

Lightning laughed, but it was more of a sob. "I promise, I will wait for you." She saw Serah's eyes begin to dim, and forced herself to speak. "I forgive you."

Then Serah was gone.

"Lightning…"

Lightning turned and shook her head at Claire. Then she took Serah's body into her arms and walked out into the lonely hills around her shrine. How frail Serah felt in her arms, how light. The blue eyes that she had loved so much were now closed forever, and the pink hair that had once been so like her own had faded to white. She had told Serah once, that she would shed no more tears over her. There, in the hills, she broke that promise.

As if to mock her pain, the sun shone brightly in a sky free of clouds, until finally, her grief took form, and a storm rolled in. The sky wept then, it wept long after her own tears had run dry, and there were tears too on the wind. In the end, it was Claire who found her, still rocking Serah's body back and forth with a grief that seemed beyond control. She had killed so many, she had seen such terrible things. But this one death, the loss of this one life, was worse by far than all of them put together.

They buried Serah in a field near the village filled with blue roses, and on that day, it rained again. Lightning watched from afar, her face dry for she had no more tears to shed. Serah was gone, and her heart was hollow. Long after the other mourners had gone, she remained, her eyes locked onto the patch of earth that now held her sister. It was only when the wind stirred beside her, and Fang appeared, that she moved.

"She is gone." Lightning's voice was dead. "Fang, she is gone."

"I know." The other goddess's eyes were filled with pain. "Aerith will not leave her forest, though I have heard her weeping." She looked at Lightning, and reached up to touch her cheek. "You have no more tears to shed."

 

Lightning nodded slowly. "No."

"Then let me shed them for you." And with that Fang pulled Lightning into her arms and wept.

Eventually, Fang left, and Lightning went down to the village to speak with Claire and her daughter, Diana. There was enough of Serah in them to soothe her pain a little, and even if it was not quite the same, it was better than nothing. She left them with a promise that she would return, but she could see from the shadow in Claire's eyes that the woman understood it could never be the same again.

She went to the Thunder Plains, to the home she had carved with lightning out of the hard, unforgiving rock. It was there, watching the storms break overhead, that the High Father found her. She felt his presence long before he arrived, and watched closely as he sat beside her. The High Mother was a woman of impossible beauty, a perfect blend of gentle femininity and martial valour. But the High Father was different. He had the appearance of a man well past middle age, stately of bearing, but old. His eyes though gave away what he was, for he could see all the paths that lay ahead, and when his gaze fell upon her, it was as though he could see right through her.

"Your sister is gone." The words were spoken softly and with a hint of regret.

She nodded slowly. It had been centuries since she had needed to speak to him. "Yes."

"What would you give to have her back?" he asked.

Lightning stiffened, and something ugly stirred inside her. He of all people should understand that she could never have her sister back, that even if Serah was reborn, she would not be the same. "That is impossible."

The High Father's smile was gentle, as though he were talking to a child. "You know of fate and destiny. What if I told you they could be overturned?"

She rose to her feet. "You speak of blasphemy." The cycle of death and rebirth was older even than the High Mother and High Father. To tamper with it could destroy all of creation. And as great as her grief was, she was not so wretched as to wish for that. "Do not speak of such things again."

The High Father only shook his head sadly. "You have given so much, Lightning, and received so little in return. Perhaps one day you will realise that you deserve more. When that day comes, then I will seek you out again." He stood, and his form faded, taking him back to Cocoon. "If fate and destiny are so cruel, why not change them?"

Years passed.

Claire died.

Diana died.

And Lightning watched over generation after generation of Serah's progeny, unwilling, or perhaps unable to leave behind what was left of her sister. But each generation had just a little bit less of Serah in it, until finally there was no warmth in their gaze, only reverence. Lightning the sister, the aunt, the friend – that Lightning was dead to them. Only Lightning the goddess remained. And the fragile friendships she'd begun to rebuild with Fang and Aerith could only do so much to ease the pain that realisation caused her. Serah had broken her promise after all.

So one day, Lightning simply walked away. She left Serah's children, and for years, uncounted years, she stayed away. She spent her time haunting the mountains of the Yun, or the great forest that Aerith had begun to grow. Then one day, centuries after she had last laid eyes on Serah's descendants, she heard weeping. It was a weeping she had heard before, a weeping that struck a chord within her very soul, and for a moment she could not believe it was real.

But still she went, and there in the woods not far from a large town filled with tall, stone houses, she found a small child huddled beneath an old tree as a storm swept overhead.

"Stay away!" the little girl yelled, and it was a voice so familiar that Lightning could scarcely stand it. "Please, just leave me alone."

Lightning dimmed the radiance that filled the air around her and dismissed her amour. Gently, she shrugged off her cloak and offered it to the girl beneath the tree. Above them, the sky shook with thunder, but rather than look afraid, the girl seemed almost pleased.

"Are you not afraid of the storm?"

The girl wrapped the cloak about her shoulders and looked at Lightning with eyes the colour of the summer sky as she brushed back a lock of her pink hair. "I've always liked the thunder – it's the rain I don't like." She tilted her head to one side. "You're a goddess, aren't you?" She trembled. "Have I done something wrong?"

Lightning shook her head. "My name is Lightning, and you have done nothing wrong."

The girl's eyes widened. "Lightning? I've heard of you. All of the people in my family worship you. They say you keep the bad gods away. They say you rule the storms."

Lightning nodded. Somehow, over the course of centuries, Serah's family had forgotten their origins. "They speak truly." Her eyes narrowed. The girl was skinny beneath her clothes, too skinny, and her hair had clearly not been washed in weeks. "Why are you here?"

The girl sniffled and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Because I don't want to work for my uncle anymore. My parents say that I have to since we owe him money, but I don't like it. His family is mean to me, and no one takes care of me."

"Do you want to leave?" Lightning knelt and offered one hand. "If you want, I will take you somewhere else, and I will take care of you."

The girl's lips quivered. "You don't even know my name."

"Then tell me your name." Lightning smiled faintly. "And know that I will never do you harm, nor will I ever allow harm to come to you."

The girl smiled and took Lightning's hand. "I feel like I can trust you, even if we've never met before today. My name is Averia."

"Averia?" Lightning stood, lifting the girl easily into her arms. It was a beautiful name, but there was no mistaking the soul that looked back at her from those hauntingly familiar eyes. This girl was Serah reborn.

"You look sad," Averia whispered, reaching up to touch Lightning's face.

"I was remembering someone I lost a long time ago," Lightning said. "I still miss her."

Averia pressed herself closer to Lightning. The goddess shivered. They had only known each other for a few moments, but already the girl trusted her so much. "I hope you see her again."

The irony was almost enough to make her weep. "I think I will." She lifted one hand and summoned the lightning to take them away. Serah had promised to find her somehow, and she had.

X X X

Serah woke up when someone knocked on her door. It was Ifalna, the Cetra dressed in much the same manner as she had been the previous night.

"You slept well, I hope." Serah nodded. "Good, then perhaps you might like to watch some of the exercises we do."

"Exercises?" Serah asked.

"Well, it's more like training, actually." Ifalna smiled. "All Cetra are trained in the arts of war, for one day, the time may come when we have to defend our forest."

Serah dressed quickly and then followed Ifalna into a large open space that had been set aside for training in weapons and combat. There were scores of Cetra there, and she watched in awe as they moved through a well-honed series of techniques with swords and other weapons. She had seen many mortal swordsmen, but even the best of them paled when compared to the Cetra. They moved as though they were a part of the land itself, each step, each shift of balance, smooth and flowing, but as solid and firm as a mountain. Yet compared to Lightning, they were nothing. Serah had seen the goddess fight, and even those terribly one-sided contests had revealed a deadly, brutal grace that not even the Cetra could match.

"You see impressed, but only a little." Ifalna laughed good-naturedly. "I am not surprised. We learned our ways of fighting from our goddess, who in turn learned them from the other gods. Your goddess, however, was said to be unequalled with the sword." She grinned. "Would you like to try your hand at a little sparring?"

"I'm not sure –"

"Come," Ifalna insisted, guiding Serah into one of the many sparring arenas. "We are all eager to see what the chosen of the goddess Lightning can do."

And so, before she knew it, Serah found herself standing opposite one of the Cetra. Her opponent was a tall male, lean and toned from years of practice. Each of them had a sword, and neither of them wore any armour or padding.

"Till first blood or yield," Ifalna shouted before she stepped back and dropped her hand. "Begin."

The Cetra darted forward with a speed that should have been impossible to follow, but Serah had spent weeks sparring with Lightning. At the last moment, she twisted to the side, and her blade darted up to catch his. The Cetra's blade was longer, and heavier, and slightly curved, but the angle of her parry was perfect. His blade skittered off hers, and in the same, flowing motion, she lunged forward, her own sword coming to a rest an inch from his throat.

The only person more surprised that him was Serah. She'd seen Lightning perform that move before – had lost to it several times, actually – but she'd never been able to do land it herself. She'd dreamed of it though, even dreamed of another her that danced with the storm and struck with all the speed and force of thunder and lightning, but those were just dreams. Maybe all of her practice was finally beginning to pay off.

"Yield." The Cetra gave a laugh of disbelief and then bowed. "Well fought."

As if to prove it wasn't a fluke, Serah dispatched three more Cetra in short order before Ifalna stepped into the arena. Rather than a sword, the other woman wielded a long metal staff. Her gaze was keen as she studied Serah, as though trying to see right into the very heart of her.

"I am honoured to face you." Ifalna bowed. "It is not often that two chosen have the chance to face one another."

Serah had a split-second to realise what that meant – Ifalna was Aerith's chosen – before Ifalna lunged forward. The other Cetra had been fast, but Ifalna was on another level entirely. The Cetra's staff beat out a percussive drumbeat against Serah's sword as she struck again and again, twisting and turning so that each blow hit with all the force of a sledgehammer. More than once, Serah had to fight simply to keep hold of her sword, and no matter how hard she looked, she could find no flaw in the maelstrom of blows that Ifalna wove.

As tiredness began to set in, her vision blurred. She saw another brunette in Ifalna's place – Aerith? – and as Ifalna moved into another sequence of strikes, Serah knew, somehow but with absolute certainty, that after the first two strikes, Ifalna would throw a high slash at her head, followed by a downward chop and then a slash at her midsection. It was almost as though she'd seen the technique before.

Serah blocked the high slash and then twisted around the downward chop, but as she strained to deliver her counterattack, her blade only inches from Ifalna's chest, she lost her footing and tumbled to the ground. Ifalna's last attack went over her, but by the time she had recovered, the Cetra had one end of her staff resting against her stomach.

"Well fought. I am amongst our best, and I was lucky to beat you." Ifalna moved her staff aside and helped Serah stand. "How many years have you been training?"

Serah groaned. "Several weeks."

Ifalna's eyes widened in surprise as a murmur ran through the other Cetra. "No wonder the goddess chose you. Such talent is rare indeed." She smiled. "It is almost like you knew all of it already." She glanced at another part of the training ground. "But enough swordplay. How do you feel about archery?"

Serah shrugged. "I haven't really done much archery before."

"I see, well, you might find it interesting. We Cetra certainly do."

Ifalna led her over to the opposite side of the training area where several dozen Cetra were shooting at targets set up at a range of different distances. Their bows, Serah noted, we not like those common to her village. Instead, the Cetra seemed to favour recurve bows.

"The forest is an ideal place for ambuscades," Ifalna explained. "And for that, a bow is often better than a sword." Her expression hardened just a fraction. "There are those who would take what we have, so we are always careful to discourage any unwanted visitors." She took a bow and gestured for Serah to observe. "Watch closely, and once you are ready, you can try."

Serah paid close attention as Ifalna showed her the proper way to use the bow. She had seen bows before in her village, but her father had always favoured swords, so she'd never actually used one before. It seemed fascinating, and she gave a polite clap when Ifalna buried a string of arrows into the very centre a target that had to be at least a hundred yards away.

"Here," Ifalna said, handing Serah the bow. "Why don't you try?"

Serah nodded and took the weapon. The weight of it felt good in her hands, familiar. She took a deep breath, drawing the bow taut, and she could almost hear Lightning's voice in her mind telling her to take her time, to sight her target, to breathe. With a soft sigh, she loosed her first arrow. Then frowned. "I missed."

"You hit the edges of the target, not a bad first try." Ifalna made to take the bow away. "Would you like to see the rest of the city now?"

Serah stared at the target for a moment longer and then at the bow in her hands. "No, not yet. I want to practice this a little more." She readied another arrow, so intent on the target that she never saw the broad smile spread across Ifalna's face.

"How interesting," Ifalna murmured. "How very interesting indeed."

X X X

Serah wasn't sure how long she'd been practicing, her eyes locked onto the target as she readied arrow after arrow. Despite her best efforts, however, she couldn't hit the centre of the target with any degree of consistency. It was only when she heard a polite cough from behind her that she stopped and took stock of her surroundings.

Aerith and Lightning were there.

Serah flushed and scrubbed at the sweat on her face, horribly aware of the amused look on Ifalna's face as she explained what had taken place so far that morning.

Aerith's lips curved into a smile that stirred something Serah's chest. "Ifalna tells me that you've been practicing for more than four hours." She glanced at the target. "You're doing quite well, it seems."

Serah looked down. "I can't hit the centre consistently yet." She felt as if that was something she should have been able to do. "Maybe with more practice…"

"So you enjoy archery?" Aerith asked. It was strange, but there was something much more human about Aerith, though she was still unmistakably of divine origin. "Still, you must realise that most people are much slower to improve than you." She grinned and waved one hand. Several Cetra came forth with a large box, which Aerith handed to Serah. "Although if you're going to practice archery, you are going to need your own bow."

Serah opened the box and gasped. Inside the box was a bow wrought entirely of crystal, quite similar appearance to the armour that Lightning wore on occasion. But unlike that armour, the crystal of the bow was dulled and cloudy. It felt… dead, for want of a better word. Yet all the same, the worth of the bow must have been enormous.

"Take it," Aerith said gently, and Serah was startled to see a look of bittersweet remembrance upon Lightning's face.

Serah trembled. "I… it is too much."

Lightning spoke, and Serah could all but feel the weight of centuries of grief bear down upon her. This bow was no ordinary bow. "That bow once belonged to someone very precious to me. It is yours now. Take it."

"I can't." Serah shook her head. The weapon clearly meant a lot to Lightning. She couldn't just… take it. "I don't deserve –"

"You are my chosen," Lightning said firmly. "As she was once – the one who held it before you. There is no other, save myself, who has the right to hold that bow. Take it."

So Serah did.

The moment she touched the bow, she felt a jolt run through her. Then her hands closed about it, and she held it up. There was no bowstring and no arrow, yet she found her hands reaching forward to where the bowstring should have been. A crackling arc of electricity formed, and as she pulled it back, an arrow formed as well. The crystal of the bow that had been dull only seconds ago, now gleamed, its slender length encasing glowing shafts of lightning.

She turned, aimed at the target, and then fired. The wooden target exploded, little chunks of burning wood flying through the air, as she lifted one hand to shield herself. "Impossible."

Lightning's smile was sad. "As I said, it was meant for your hands."

Aerith nodded. "Indeed. Still, you must be hungry, Serah. Lunch will soon be served, and though gods do not need to eat, my Cetra make some wonderful food."

X X X

Lightning floated alone, high above the City of Ancients. Serah had spent the rest of the day exploring the city, and Lightning had accompanied her. To see Serah's face light up each time she discovered some fresh, new wonder had been a marvellous thing. But it had been painful as well, and she had seen some of that pain reflected in Aerith's eyes. Undoubtedly, Serah begun to remember some of her past, but it would only ever be in the form of dreams and vague impressions. Serah's soul was the same, but the memories that defined her, the experiences that had made her Lightning's sister – those were gone forever.

But despite her desire to stay at least a little distant from this new Serah, Lightning found herself growing more and more fond of her. This Serah was so much like hers. There was that same vulnerability, that same, almost desperate need for Lightning's approval. There was the same strength too, though it was well hidden. And of course there was Serah's love for the bow – both of them had been like that – and watching this Serah sleep with the bow clutched in her arms had reminded her of another time, long ago, when she had chided her sister for doing the same.

How terrible it was that history should repeat itself. Lightning could only hope that this time, things would be different. Somehow, even if she had to move the heavens and the earth, she would make them different. This Serah would not suffer as her sister had, nor would suffer the fate that Averia had.

X X X

Lightning took Averia to the shrine near the village where Serah had lived with Claire all those years ago. To say that the priests and priestesses there were surprised to see her was an understatement. Their surprise was even greater when they saw Averia in her arms. The girl was in a terrible state – poorly fed and dirty – but all the same, the resemblance between them was uncanny.

"See to her care." Lightning's voice invited no questions and brooked no disobedience. "She is my chosen. Should hard come to her then all your lives are forfeit."

But the girl would not let her leave. Instead, Averia showed a stubbornness that Lightning recognised all too well as she demanded that Lightning stay as she was bathed and clothed in a manner befitting one chosen by a goddess of Lightning's power.

"You said you would look after me." Averia huffed and turned her achingly familiar blue eyes on Lightning. "You promised you would."

"I have duties to attend to." Lightning forced back the tiny tremor of hope in her heart. There was no telling if Averia would take to her as Serah had. The girl might have Serah's soul, but everything in her life so far had been different. "But I promise that I shall return as soon as I can. If you have need of me…" Lightning paused, the words caught in her mouth. "Then call my name, and know that I will always answer."

Lightning turned the shrine into something of a second home. This time, she swore she would do better. She would save her sister and they would be happy. Just to be sure, she swore the priests and priestesses to secrecy. She had many enemies, and if any of them found out about Averia…

It soon became apparent that Averia was growing quite attached to her. Despite Lightning's regal bearing and divine status, Averia seemed perfectly content subjecting the goddess to any number of minor indignities. Averia demanded that Lightning help her pick out the clothes she wore each day, and at night, Averia would insist that Lightning tell her a story before she slept. When Lightning exhausted her meagre store of mortal tales, she told Averia of some of the battles she had fought, and these tales of war and glory soon became Averia's favourites.

As the girl grew older, she begged Lightning to teach her the ways of the bow and sword. She wanted nothing more than to be like the goddess, and it broke Lightning's heart a little to see how quickly Averia mastered her lessons. It was almost as though some part of the girl could still remember what she had once been. But that pain meant nothing because for the first time in centuries, Lightning had a home. After each mission, she would to return to the shrine, and no matter the time of day, Averia would rise to greet her with open arms and loving eyes.

In time, she told Aerith and Fang of Averia. A selfish part of her wanted to keep the girl to herself, but Aerith and Fang had loved Serah as well. Still, she made them swear to never keep secrets from her about Averia. They had hurt her deeply once. She would not give the chance to do so again.

And so the seasons passed as they were wont to do, and Lightning watched as Averia grew to be a paragon of loveliness. In the summer of the girl's sixteenth year, Averia's parents stumbled across the shrine, and they begged the girl to return home with them. Despite their kind words, Lightning could see the greed in their eyes. They had given their daughter away to settle their debts, and now that she had come into Lightning's favour, they wanted her back.

But if she had loved Averia before, she loved her even more when the girl refused her parents. When Lightning asked her why, her reply was simple.

"Who held me when I was scared?" Averia asked. "Who told me stories to soothe me when the nights grew long? Who taught me all that I know about the bow and the sword?" She wrapped her arms around Lightning, and pressed her face into the crook of the goddess's neck. "They are not family me. You are, and you are everything I wish I could be."

The words meant more to Lightning than any she had heard in centuries. Yet in them lay the seeds of Averia's doom for as the years passed, Averia grew to chafe at her life at the shrine. She wanted to see the world, to do great deeds as Lightning had. But Lightning was afraid for Averia was mortal, and no mortal who did great deeds ever lasted long. Finally, she forbade the girl from leaving the shrine without her permission.

If only she had not.

One day, Lightning was sent to deal with another one of the great mountains of Pulse that had awakened and gone awry. So grave was the threat that Fang and Aerith were sent as well. They triumphed, but all three of them were wounded, and as Fang and Aerith went to Cocoon to give the report, Lightning returned once more to the shrine in the hills.

As she drew near, her ears were filled with cries of concern and lamentation. She arrived in a blaze of thunder and lightning that shook the shrine to its foundations. Only one thing could cause such panic in her priests and priestesses, and as she waited for them to tell her, she could hear, once again, the footfalls of mortal doom fast approaching.

Averia had gone, and none them knew where. So Lightning reached out, straining to find Averia's soul, for though it was familiar, it did not shine to her as brightly as Serah's had, for Serah had been a goddess, and Averia was only a mortal. It took her only a heartbeat to find the girl, and then she was gone, moving as swiftly as the lightning could carry her.

She arrived in a place of black stone and withered trees, and for a long moment, she had eyes only for the hydra that lay broken upon the hillside nearby. Its heads had been severed, and the necks had been scorched with fire to prevent their regeneration. Arrows riddled its body, and dozens more were lodged in its eyes. Countless wounds had been cut into the hydra's flesh, testament to a level of swordsmanship that had no equal amongst mortals.

Above her, the clouds were already dark, and the first drops of rain began to fall.

And then she saw Averia.

The young woman was sprawled across the ground, and with just a glance, Lightning knew that she was too late – always too late. She could feel the touch of death upon the girl's soul, and in a daze, she stumbled over to gather her into her arms. No god could help her now.

"Averia."

The young woman's eyes opened slowly, and her lips curved into a pained smile. "Lightning."

"Why?" Lightning flinched as she realised that Averia was blind. The hydra's venom must have done it. But to kill a hydra alone, no mortal had managed to do that in millennia, and despite the horror building inside her, Lightning felt a swell of pride. The battle must have been magnificent. "Why didn't you call for me?"

Averia coughed, and it was a horrible wet sound. "I wanted to show you that I could look after myself." She shook. "I wanted to do great things like you have. I wanted to make you proud of me."

Lightning's heart clenched. "You silly girl. I have always been proud of you."

Unbidden, tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and Averia reached up to touch her face, only for her hand to fall limply to the ground. "Are you crying?"

Lightning closed her eyes and forced the tears to stop. "No, Averia, it is only the rain." And indeed, the rain had begun to fall more strongly, turning the loose dirt torn up by the hydra into a swell mud and muck.

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be." Averia was beyond the help of the gods now, but still Lightning called to that part of her power that had once belonged to Serah. An age ago, Serah had been one of the finest healers amongst the gods, but Lightning could not heal. Her power could only ever destroy.

"I wish… I wish we could have had a happier ending." Averia's breath began to slow, and Lightning held her tighter still as death drew near, and at last, snatched her away. "I will find you again."

This time, Lightning did not rage at the unfairness of it all. Instead, she took Averia back to the shrine and called for Aerith and Fang. There would be no place in the earth for Averia. Instead, she would pass as mortal heroes did, burnt upon a pyre of fine wood with her weapons and armour. The winds would carry her ashes to all the corners of the earth, and songs would be sung of her deeds for as long as there was anyone left to remember them.

In death, Averia found the fame she had never had in life. Some called her Averia the Blessed, while others spoke of her as Hydra's Bane. But Lightning cared nothing for such titles, would have given all of them back if only Averia could be with her again. She had loved and she had lost, and she had found that love again only to lose it again. The other gods had once compared her to a glacier, cold and magnificent. Yet even a glacier could be broken, and even a mountain could be ground to dust given time. Her heart had broken, and this time, she did not know if it could be mended.

Once more she went to the Thunder Plains, and the arid waste seemed almost to welcome her. And as he had promised so many years ago, the High Father came to seek her out again.

"Why are you here?" Lightning asked tiredly.

"You know why." The High Father's voice was gentle, and his eyes were kind.

Lightning knew she should refuse him for what he had spoken of before was blasphemy, and she knew he would speak of it again. But the thought of what he offered was too much now for her to simply turn away.

"How long have you served the High Mother?" he asked. "How many have you killed her in her name? Too many years, I think. Too many lives. And look at what reward you have received. Only one thing was given unto you, and even that was taken away. Only once in all your life have you ever asked for her to protect life instead of dealing out death, and she refused." The High Father gazed at her with eyes that saw all of eternity unfold like a flower before the sun. "Do you think this is how the world should be? I do not. This world is broken, Lightning, but together, we might fix it."

Lightning's jaw clenched. For years, unnumbered years, she had done what was asked of her. She had defended the High Mother and the order of all things without complaint, and while others so much less deserving had found boundless happiness and joy, she had known only sorrow. While the other gods had sat idle upon Cocoon, lost in luxury and the pursuit of pleasure, she had fought and fought and fought, and still what little she had loved had been taken away. There was no fairness in that, no justice. "You speak of destroying the cycle, of changing the very fabric of creation."

"Yes." The High Father's smile was beautiful. "I speak of a just world, Lightning, a world where the righteous will be rewarded and the wicked cast down. Tell me, is it fair that we gods alone should enjoy life everlasting? So many of us are unworthy of it, while even the finest of mortals must endure a brief life filled with suffering and pain. There are those amongst the mortals who deserve better. Your sister, your Averia, was one of them. She slew a hydra, Lightning, a feat that would challenge even a god. Does she not deserve more? Does she not deserve to be freed from the endless cycle of death and rebirth? She should be amongst the stars, Lightning, set eternally beside the gods upon Cocoon."

Lightning closed her eyes, her ears ringing with the High Father's words. She had killed so many gods, and every one of them had deserved it. But Serah and Averia had not deserved their fates, they had deserved better. "How would you do it?"

The High Father put one arm about her shoulders and gestured at the sky. An image sprang up of a Cocoon filled not only with gods, but with mortals as well. Lightning was there, and beside her was Serah. "I would turn Cocoon into a paradise for the deserving. The cycle of death and rebirth can be broken, Lightning, and I would gather up the righteous and the good, and I would give them a place upon Cocoon. You and your sister would be together, and you would never have to lose her again."

Lightning watched the image, watched her sister smile and laugh. "The High Mother will never agree to this."

"She has grown aloof," the High Father replied, and sorrow coloured each syllable of his speech. "I have walked for many years amongst the mortals whilst she lingers upon Cocoon, too far above them to hear their cries of lamentation. But I hear those cries, those pleas for a just world, a fair world. Still, I believe that she will come around once she sees how much fairer our new world is. Wouldn't you like that, Lightning? You would be helping her to see the truth."

"The High Mother gave me life," Lightning said softly. "And you would have me go against her?"

"She gave you life, that much is true." The High Father smiled gently. "But does that mean she owns your life? Have you not paid her back in full for creating you? What sort of mother would bind their child to their will for all eternity? She afforded Serah the right to choose her own path, surely she can afford you, the one who has served her most faithfully, the same privilege."

Lightning looked at the High Father. Yes, the right to choose her own path. She had earned that much. The thought of returning once more to her endless duty rang hollow in her heart. If the High Mother truly loved her, then surely she would not begrudge her the chance to choose, to try and find a way to be with Serah forever.

"What would you give to have your sister by your side forever, even unto sundering of the earth?" the High Father asked. "For that would be your reward if we succeeded."

Lightning thought of Serah and Averia, of the warmth of them in her arms, of the feel of their soul. Each smile, each laugh, each word, each moment… to have those again. Her answer was simple. "Anything."

The High Father offered her his hand. "Then help me, Lightning, and together we will do great things."

Trembling, she took his hand.

X X X

Lightning drifted back down to the city and the room she shared with Serah. The young woman was asleep, sprawled inelegantly on her stomach with her bow clutched in her arms. A faint smile crossed the goddess's lips. Truly, some things did not change.

She thought back to her memories. That day on the Thunder Plains, that choice – everything had gone wrong from there. The High Father had lied to her, and everything had fallen apart. She had turned on those she considered friends even as they had turned on her, and the heavens and the earth had been torn asunder by the struggle that followed. Cocoon had fallen and Lightning had been lost in slumber. But this time, she would do better. She would make the right choices. For Serah's sake, she had to.

And then to the west, she felt it. It was the power of the High Father, a terrifying strength that could lay waste entire cities and boil away the oceans. Alongside it, she felt Caius, and against them both, standing alone and proud, there was Fang.

Aerith was right. The High Father had returned and Caius was at his side. Very well then. Let them do as they would. She had stopped the High Father once. She would find a way to do so again. For Serah's sake, for everyone's sake, she would have to.

Perhaps this time, she and Serah could have their happy ending.

X     X     X

**Author's Notes**

As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.

Well, it's been a while, but in my defence I've been through laptop malfunctions, Christmas, and New Year. This chapter is also a rather lengthy one (I think it's actually the longest one so far). In any case, let's talk about what happened here.

The title of this chapter is a reference to Lightning. In previous chapters, Lightning has often been referred to as a sword (see e.g., her titles, the Sword of the Heavens, the Blade of the High Mother). But no matter how well forged a sword is, it can still be broken. Perhaps a single blow might not be enough, but if you apply enough pressure and you strike it enough times, even the finest sword will break. Lightning is that finest of swords, utterly loyal to the High Mother and unflinching in her duty. But in this chapter she breaks. It takes centuries, centuries of loneliness and pain, and the loss of her sister a second time, but still, she breaks, and she makes a choice that changes everything (exactly how, I will be revealing later, although there have already been some rather blatant hints).

What makes this chapter so long is the need to show Lightning's backstory. There is nothing worse than hoping and dreaming for something and getting close to it only for it to be snatched away. And this is what happens to Lightning over and over again. Beneath such pressure even a god would break, and Lightning does. I could have written entire stories about what happened when Lightning made up with Serah and then when she found Averia, but I've chosen to condense them because the exact nature of those events aren't vital to the story (not to mention it would make this story even longer than it already is). Rather, what matters most is what those events did to Lightning, how they changed her.

Also at the core of this chapter is the notion of a "just world", one in which good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. This is actually a common cognitive bias that people have (i.e., many people seem to think that the world is, in fact, structured such that good things only happen to good people and bad things only happen to bad people). The fact of the matter is, the world is not just and it is not fair – not unless we make it so. And this is where the High Father makes his point. Lightning deserves better, but the fates have not been kind. Yet she is someone used to dealing with problems, to changing things. What the High Father offers her is the chance to change things, to destroy the source of her problems (i.e., the mortal cycle of death and rebirth). For obvious reasons, this is probably not a good idea, but to Lightning, it seems fair. After all, hasn't she given enough? Hasn't she done more than her fair share? And if the world isn't fair, shouldn't it be?

I also debated a number of different approaches to Averia (for those who aren't aware, Averia was the name originally given to Lightning during development of Final Fantasy XIII, and Diana is kind of stolen from one of my other stories since I'm lazy like that) and Claire (which is Lightning's real name in the game, and it is not a coincidence that it is the name that Serah hears on the thunder in this chapter). One of these included having Averia actually fall in love with Lightning (in a romantic sense – remember, she doesn't have her memories of her past life as Serah), but I decided to scrap that idea. Not only would it have been hideously complicated to write (but wonderfully bittersweet), I think it would have basically required writing its own entire story for it to make any sense (apologies to anyone shipping Serah/Lightning in this story).

With regards to Claire, I debated giving her a more prominent role in this story, but I decided I liked her best as an echo of Serah. For Lightning, it was the similarity to Serah that drew her to Claire, and as each generation passed, she could only watch as less and less of Serah remained in her descendants. It would have been like watching a television show you lose more and more of what you originally liked about it (only a million times worse).

And finally, this chapter should also answer some of your questions about why Lightning answered Serah's call in the first place (way back in Chapter 1). In case you missed it, I'll help you put the details together. Serah isn't just anybody and the place she called for Lightning's isn't just any old place either. It's a shrine nestled in the hills near a small village. Sound familiar? That's right – it's  _that_  shrine, the shrine where Lightning reconciled with Serah, the same shrine where she raised Averia. It's been centuries, but it's still standing, and of all the places in the world, it is arguably the one she has the strongest attachment to. You could say that Serah was extremely lucky, but that's not how things work. Throughout this chapter Lightning refers to the "footfalls of doom". The word 'doom' is often taken to mean something horrible, but it can also be used as a synonym for fate or destiny. What Lightning means is that she can feel the weight of destiny bearing down on her, the wheels of fate turning ever onward with a power that not even the gods can withstand. If fate and destiny conspired to break Lightning and Serah apart, who is to say, they might not conspire to bring them back together?

With regards to the Cetra, they are clearly based on the idea of elves common in fantasy literature. Their connection to the Planet made this an easy leap to make, although there was a second when I considered turning them into a bunch of tree hugging, hippie beatniks (thankfully, I decided not to). The choice of Ifalna as Aerith's chosen was always an easy one to make – I find it humorous in a good sort of way.

As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	13. The Union Of The Clans

**The Union of the Clans**

Vanille awakened to stout banging on her door. Quickly, she threw on some clothes and hurried to answer it.

"Fujin?" She yawned and rubbed at her eyes. The sun had only just risen, so she should have had another hour of rest. Had the silver haired woman come up with yet another hellish addition to her training regime?

But Fujin's expression was even graver than normal. Her single eye narrowed ominously, and she jerked her head toward the village square. "COME. IMPORTANT."

"Oh." Vanille grabbed her cloak and boots and hurried after the other woman. Fujin was taciturn at the best of times, but there was something different about her now, something that scared Vanille in a way she hadn't been scared since the day they'd first met.

The village square was already almost full by the time they arrived. Men and women gazed expectantly at a raised platform at the far end of the square, and all around her, the warriors wore looks of grim determination. As for Bhakti, the dragon trailed in her wake, his tail flicking restlessly through the air.

 _The Old One is going to say something._  Bhakti plodded after Vanille and Fujin as they made their way to the front of the crowd.  _Something big. Everyone is nervous. It bothers me._

Vanille winced. It was easy to forget sometimes that Bhakti could, in the peculiar way of dragons, pick up some of the emotions of the people around him. Being in a large crowd of agitated people must be quite uncomfortable.

"What do you think it could be?" Vanille whispered to Fujin. "Have you heard anything?"

"WAR." Fujin's gaze darkened. "ONLY WAR."

A shudder ran through Vanille. Fujin was right. Only war could stir the Yun up like this. But that shouldn't be possible. The elder had said they had another month or two before they had to worry.

When they reached the front of the crowd, the elder was already up on the platform. The old woman that Vanille had gotten used to was gone. Instead, a warrior stood in her place. The elder's back was straight, and her eyes flashed in the morning sun. Her thin body stood firm against the wind, and she held a spear in one hand, the weapon handled with an ease that could only have come from decades of practice. For a moment their eyes met, and Vanille scrambled to join the elder up on the platform.

"What's happening?" Vanille murmured. From up on the platform, she could see the whole village spread out before her. There were hundreds of people, and every single on of them was staring at her.

"It is war." The elder's voice was soft, and for a moment, her eyes were very sad. "I am sorry, young Dia." Then once again, her voice grew firm, and her eyes took on the hardness of finely forged steel. When she spoke next, it was to the crowd, and her voice rang out clearly over the biting wind.

"Brother and sisters," the elder began. "Today, the Yun go to war." Immediately, the crowd burst into frantic whispers whilst the bolder members of the crowd shouted question at the elder. But the old woman would have none of it. With a single stout rap of her spear against the stage, she silenced the crowd. "Riders have come from Oerba. An army from Cocoon has been sighted. In two weeks perhaps, they shall reach the walls of Oerba."

Beside the elder, Vanille gasped and would have sunk to her knees were it not for the firm hand the old woman laid upon her shoulder. Her fists clenched. Even if they set out today, it would take at least two and a half weeks, perhaps even three weeks for them to reach Oerba. That would give the Cocoon army anything from a few days to an entire week to destroy the city. Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to calm. The elder would have a plan; she had to have a plan.

"I have already sent our swiftest riders to all the villages and towns of our people." The elder brought her spear down on the platform again, and a single pure note rang out as the polished tip of the weapon struck the hard stone of the platform. "We will gather with our allies on the plains, and then we shall march to Oerba to face our enemy."

"What are the numbers?" The question came from one of the warriors, a middle-aged woman with a scar across her brow. "Honoured Elder, how many soldiers do the vipers have?"

The elder smiled thinly. "They say a hundred thousand now march upon Oerba, with a hundred thousand more soon to follow."

This answer was met with a rumble of amusement from the assembled warriors. The same warrior that had asked the question now threw her head back and laughed.

"Only two hundred thousand, Honoured Elder? Perhaps Cocoon should have spent less time plotting and more time gathering soldiers."

Vanille trembled. How could they stand there and joke? Two hundred thousand soldiers – she couldn't even begin to imagine what such an army would look like. The earth would shake beneath their feet, and they would turn the plains about Oerba into a forest of steel. But as Vanille opened her mouth to speak, the elder gave the smallest shake of her head.

"Remember the past, young Dia," the elder whispered. "We are used to fighting such numbers."

A hiss left Vanille's lips. It was hard to think when she was so worried, but the elder was right. Many times the Yun had fought against superior numbers, and many times they had emerged victorious. Legend said that a single Yun warrior was worth at least three from any other clan. And the elder had mentioned that they would not be going to Oerba's aid alone. Perhaps things were not quite so bad as they seemed.

The elder chuckled quietly and though her next words were directed at the crowd again, Vanille could tell they were meant for her as well. In public, the elder could not coddle her, but she wasn't so heartless as to brush aside Vanille's concerns.

"I remember well the walls of great Oerba." The elder's voice was steel, and the spear in her hands beat an almost hypnotic rhythm against the platform. "They stood unbroken in the days of my mother and her mother before her, all the way back to the beginning. It was only through treachery that the vipers seized control of one of the gates and stole into the city." She growled. "Those walls will hold until we arrive, and when we do, we shall give the Dia a fine lesson in how we Yun handle our enemies." The crowd roared. "Not for us stout walls and barred gates. No, let Cocoon taste the steel of our sword and spears, let Cocoon cower at the sight of our banners unfurled in the wind, and let Cocoon rue the day they ever crossed the river and marched across the plains to lay siege to great Oerba."

The crowd began to stomp the ground, and those with weapons brandished them in the air.

"As I have said, we have already dispatched riders to gather the rest of our clan. All of the Yun will come to Oerba's defence, and I am certain the other clans shall heed the call as well." The elder smiled toothily. "So polish your weapons well and ready your armour and supplies – we leave tomorrow at dawn." Then, the elder's voice grew soft, and warmth filled her gaze. "Remember, war should be fought without regrets. So before tomorrow, make sure you hold your children tightly, and those of you with lovers…" she trailed off and laughter rippled through the crowd. "As for everyone else, eat well and drink your fill. We have battle ahead of us, and when we Yun go to fight, we go to win!"

One last cheer rang out, and then the crowd scattered as the warriors and villagers hastened to prepare.

"Honoured Elder," Vanille cried, once she and the old woman had stepped off the stage. "Please, tell me everything!"

The elder gave a quiet chuckle. "And a fine morning to you too, young Dia." Vanille flushed and the elder chortled. "Why don't we speak of this over breakfast?"

"But –"

The elder held up one hand. "I understand your worry, young Dia. Oerba is your home, and the Dia are your people. But there is no problem so large that a good breakfast does not make it seem smaller." She nodded at Fujin and Bhakti who were waiting patiently a few steps away. "Besides, they look hungry too, and reckless action is wasted action."

Vanille took a deep breath. The elder was right – as she always seemed to be. But it was so difficult. In all the texts she'd read, war was a matter of great seriousness, something to be planned and prepared for in grim councils between hardened veterans. The elder acted as though it were something pedestrian, although perhaps it was to the old woman. Certainly, she'd fought more wars than anyone Vanille had ever met.

In the elder's house, Vanille practically inhaled her breakfast while the elder and Fujin set a more sedate pace. Bhakti made short work of his morning meal as well, and the dragon poked his head through the window to try and make his presence known as he sensed Vanille's growing unease. The elder tolerated the dragon's antics with a thin smile, although if Bhakti pressed against the house any harder, there was a good chance he would knock it down.

"So," the elder said, taking a sip of tea. "What do you wish to know first? As you might have guessed, I did not reveal everything to the others."

"Then tell me everything!" Vanille winced. It was time to gather her thoughts. The elder had always praised her wits. Perhaps it was time to start using them. "I thought we had another month or two before any attack."

The elder sighed. "Ah." She inclined her head. "It would seem I was mistaken." Vanille gaped, and the elder gave a gentle laugh. "Understand, young Dia, Cocoon is not an easy place for our people to enter. Its borders are closely watched, and the customs of our people set us apart. They must have gathered their forces in secret, well within their borders. They are led, I imagine, by a general of great skill."

Vanille's hands shook. "Are you sure that Oerba will be safe until we arrive?" She laid her hands flat against the table and forced them to be still. "If we hurry, we can probably get there in two and a half to three weeks. But that would still give Cocoon at least a few days to breach the wall. What if… what if…" She couldn't bring herself to speak the words. If the walls fell, then Oerba would be exposed and all of her friends and the matron would…

"Peace, young Dia." The elder reached out and patted Vanille's hand. "I meant what I said. The walls of Oerba are tall and thick. Not without reason has your city stood on the plains for so many years." She nodded reassuringly. "They say the gods helped build those walls, that they carry not only the blessings of our goddess, but the blessings of countless others, given in the Old Days when the gods walked amongst men." Her lips twitched. "I do not know if those stories are true, but Oerba is the greatest fortress of our people. Barring treachery, it will hold until we arrive."

"And the other clans? Do you really think they will come?" As the chosen of the goddess, Vanille was now the heir to the Yun, but she had never dealt with the other clans except in passing. Books and scrolls could only teach her so much, but the few encounters she did have with the other clans had led her to believe that many did not think highly of the Dia. The Dia were healers and tinkerers – not warriors. "Not all think well of my people."

The elder smiled wryly. "And by that you mean that most of the warriors clans think you cowards for living behind your walls?" She shook her head slowly. "Perhaps some think of you that way, but not all do. I do not. After all, we Yun have walls of our own." She glanced out the window to the towering mountains that rose up on all sides of the village. "The Dia have simply built their own, that is all. But regardless of what the other clans think of your people, they will come. To lose Oerba would be an incredible blow, for it would give Cocoon a fortress deep in our lands. And there are some who would come anyway, simply because the Dia are one of the clans."

Vanille nodded slowly and took a deep breath. It was at times like this, she wished she had more experience. The elder had served as leader of the Yun for decades. Doubtless, she had met all of the other clan leaders before and knew all their habits. But Vanille had only just begun to learn, and there were some lessons that only experience, not book learning, could teach.

"Who will come?" Vanille asked. "Who can we say for certain will heed the call?"

"Wutai will come," the elder said. "For the Dia and the Yun once aided them in battle against Shinra, a kingdom allied to Cocoon. Likewise, the Al Bhed, for it is said the Al Bhed and the Dia have much in common and are bound by blood many times over." She pursed her lips. "And Balamb will surely come." The elder grinned. "They are a mercenary people, but their love for battle is great and they will not miss this chance to prove themselves."

A wave of relief swept through Vanille. The elder only seemed certain of three clans, but those three were quite formidable in their own right. "And others might come also, right?" The elder nodded and Vanille forced a tentative smile onto her face. "So, we leave tomorrow morning?"

"We do." The elder chuckled. "A day is all it takes for us to prepare. It will take another week to clear the mountains and another few days to reach the meeting place."

"What should I do then?" Vanille flushed. "I've never gone to war before, at least, not with the Yun."

The elder tossed an amused glance at Bhakti. The dragon had managed to squeeze his head through the window. "Prepare clothing and supplies and make sure that a second saddle is prepared for Bhakit in case the first is broken. You will also need proper weapons and armour, not the practice weapons you have now."

"You mean I'll have to use that spear you gave me?" Vanille blanched. The ceremonial spear was a thing of beauty, fit for the very finest of warriors; she was a long way from being one of them.

The elder laughed. "Young Dia, such spears are made for use. Whether you use it well or poorly, it is yours and yours alone."

Vanille bit her lip. She would have to practice extra hard during the march to be worthy of the weapon. Her chair scraped against the floor as she pushed to her feet. "I should go get ready then. I don't want to slow anyone down."

From there, Vanille's day descended into a chaotic blur of activity. There was so much to do. She had to make sure she had fresh supplies and clothing, and at the armourers, she was made abundantly aware of her shortcomings in terms of clothing. No, leather armour would not be adequate armour on its own. Perhaps if she was some stout, battle-hardened warrior, but with her small frame and lack of experience, she would need something sterner.

Thankfully, the elder had gone behind her back and ordered a set of armour prepared for her. And what armour it was. The Yun style of combat demanded not only strength, but also speed and agility, so their armour was cunningly fashioned to be both sturdy and relatively light. The most solid pieces were the bracers and greaves that all Yun wore. These were single pieces of steel, fashioned to sit flush against the body. However, the Yun also wore armour over their torso. This was made of strips of steel, arranged almost like the scales of a dragon, and joined in a way that did not hinder the wearer's movement.

The Yun armour was a stark contrast to some of the others she had seen. As a child, she'd once seen a contingent of Chocobo Knights from Mi'ihen riding through the gates of Oerba. Their armour had been far thicker and heavier, made up of solid plates of steel that covered the wearer from head to toe.

Once she had finished with her other preparations, she returned to her house only to stop and stare at the sight that awaited her. Bhakti had disappeared during the day, and she'd assumed that he'd simply gone to hunt something to eat. Clearly, he'd been up to more than hunting. He must have visited the armourers as well, for his harness had been reinforced to better withstand the rigours of battle, and additions had been made to hold weapons like spears and arrows.

As she drew near, Bhakti gave her a leisurely wave of his tail.  _Look! Now I can help you fight properly._

Vanille tilted her head to one side. "I can throw a spear, I guess. But I can't say I'm very good with a bow yet."

"That would be Fujin's job." The elder ambled over and pointed at Fujin.

Vanille's eyes widened. The silver haired woman was dressed in full armour and armed to the teeth. She carried a spear in one hand, a shield in the other, and there was a sword buckled to her waist. If that wasn't enough, a bow hung upon her back. But what truly stood out most was the colour of her armour. All of the armour that Vanille had seen so far was steel grey with perhaps a few symbols or runes etched or painted on. Fujin's armour was matte black with a host of blood red symbols drawn across it. Combined with her silver hair, pale skin and single crimson eye, Fujin looked like a cross between a ghost and a demon.

"SHADOW." Fujin growled as she rapped the shaft of her spear against her chest. "PROMISE."

The elder caught Vanille's puzzled look. "What Fujin means, is that she has been assigned as your personal bodyguard for this campaign. From this moment on, she is your shadow. Where you go, she goes. Where you fight, she fights. The symbols on her armour are promises, vows that she will never let any harm come to you while she still draws breath."

"Oh." Vanille rushed forward and threw her arms around Fujin. The other woman stiffened for a moment and then relaxed. Somehow, the elder had thought of everything. With Fujin there beside her, things wouldn't be so bad. "But wait… we haven't tried riding on Bhakti together."

 _I can carry you._  Bhakti shrugged.  _You're both very small compared to me._

An amused smile crossed the elder's lips. "As the dragon says. Besides, there is no time like the present."

Vanille grinned and tugged Fujin toward Bhakti. "Come on! Let's try it!"

The silver haired woman glared as she scrambled on top of Bhakti. "IF DIE BLAME YOU."

And with that, Bhakti gave a great roar and heaved himself up into the sky.

An hour later, they finally returned the ground in front of her house. Behind Vanille, Fujin was even paler than normal, and despite the gravity of the situation, Vanille had to laugh. For someone so brave, Fujin really didn't like being off the ground much. However, by the end of the hour, the silver haired woman had relaxed enough to take a few shots with her bow while they were in the air. She'd missed a few, but once she found her range, she was as accurate as ever.

However, the moment they landed, they found themselves in the midst of more trouble. The elder was in front of her house, and for the first time in a long time, she looked truly angry. A crowd of warriors had gathered, amongst them the oldest and most experienced in the village. From what Vanille could hear as she hopped off Bhakti, they were pleading with the elder to stay in the village.

"Please, see reason, Honoured Elder!"

Vanille gasped as the elder snarled and raised one hand to strike the warrior who had spoken. The old woman's eyes flashed fire, and her hand stopped a hair's breadth from the warrior's cheek.

"Reason? What is this reason you speak of?"

The warrior pressed on, and Vanille felt a surge of admiration for how she stood firm in the full face of the elder's fury. "Honoured Elder, you have served the Yun well for many years. We have prospered under your reign. You are a mother to us all, but if something were to happen to you… with the Dia still so young and with so much to learn…" The warrior hesitated. "And you are…"

"I am what?" The words cracked out like a whip. "Speak, girl!"

The warrior swallowed thickly. "You are old, Honoured Elder. It may no longer be safe for you on the battlefield."

"Old?" The elder spat the word. "Yes, I am old. But I am wise. Who amongst our people has fought as many battles as I have? Who amongst us knows the ways of our enemy as I do?" She spat on the ground and snarled. "And if you think I can no longer defend myself on the field of battle then you are a fool! If it should come to pass that I must take up my spear and my shield and fight alongside all of you against Cocoon, then I shall do so proudly, and even if I am slain, it will not be before I kill ten of them in return!" She shoved the warrior aside. "Go back to your house and trouble me no longer. I will fight and die as I see fit. If you have any love for me at all, then you will allow me that much. I will not pass from this world old and useless in my bed."

As the warriors fled in the face of the elder's rather, the old woman seized firm hold of her temper and favoured Vanille with a gentle smile. "These children forget themselves."

The red head nodded slowly. If they trusted her to go into battle, they could do far worse than permit the old woman the same honour. "But perhaps they are simply afraid of losing you. The warrior was right – you are a mother to them all."

"There is that." The elder scowled. "And I did help bring many of them into this world. But they are foolish to think I need protecting, and they forget that it is the old dragon that is the most cunning." Her lips curled. "Besides, if I am acting as general, something would have to go very wrong for me to take the field." She sagged and for once looked very much age. "I have only a few more winters left, young Dia, I can feel it in my bones. I would spend them as I wish, not chained by the fears of those with many more years ahead of them."

Sleep did not come easily that night for Vanille. Instead, her dreams were haunted by thoughts of her homeland. What if they were too late? What if Oerba fell? Such thoughts plagued her late into the night until at last, unable to sleep, she went outside to take in the chilly night air.

_Can't sleep?_

Vanille squinted at Bhakti. The dragon was half-hidden in the shadow cast by the house, but his eyes gleamed. Of course, he could see her well enough – dragons could see as easily in the dark as in the light of day. Nor did the cold seem to bother him. "Not really."

The dragon patted his side with his tail.  _Then sleep here._

No one was there, so what did it matter if she spent a night outside with dragon? Gingerly, she stepped over, and she gave a quiet cry of surprise as his tail wrapped around her middle and eased her into position against his side. She was cradled against his body, the warmth rolling off him more than enough to keep away the chill. To keep the wind at bay, he folded a wing over her. She smiled. For a dragon, he was surprisingly comfortable to sleep against.

 _Sleep._  Bhakti patted her with the edge of his tail.  _And dream as I do._

This time, when Vanille closed her eyes, she dreamt not of Oerba, but of open skies and the endless mountains of the Yun. The dreams of a dragon, she decided, were much simpler.

X X X

Morning came, and with it, the time to depart. Vanille gathered her supplies and prepared to climb onto Bhakti with Fujin, but the elder stopped her.

"It is customary for all warriors to leave the village together through the gates," the elder said. "It is a way to honour all those who go to fight."

And there were a great many to honour. From the village, came several hundred warriors, all of them dress in full armour and armed with sword, spear and shield. Supply wagons had also been prepared, and there were dozens of warriors on chocobos as well. Once all the warriors had gathered, the elder spoke again, reminding them of the traditions of their ancestors.

"Remember the way of the Yun." The elder spoke calmly but firmly. "We are the chosen of the goddess, a spear forged in her image. Let no enemy escape us, and let no ally be left in need. We march to war, brothers and sistesr, and we march to victory!"

A cheer went up, and the warriors began their march out of the village. As they passed, the other villagers lined the roads, their heads bowed in respect. Slowly, starting from a whisper, the villagers began to sing, their voices growing louder and stronger until the air shook. The song was sung in the language of the Yun, one that Vanille was still working hard to grasp, but it's meaning was clear even to her limited understanding. It was the story of the first Yun, a ballad sung to commemorate her deeds, and after it came the songs of the other great heroes, all of them reminders of what the Yun had done, so that those who went forth to do battle would have good examples to follow.

It was only when they were out of the village that the elder nodded at Vanille. "To the skies then, young Dia. Look about us. Learn how to scout now while we are in friendly lands."

And so Vanille took to the skies. Bhakti rose, soaring easily over the mountains, his pale red scales gleaming in the sun. It would have been easy to lose herself in the remote beauty of the mountains, but Fujin was not one to forget their duty.

"LOOK. WATCH." Fujin pointed below them. "SEE."

The Yun had no cities, for the mountains did not permit such things, but they had many tows and villages scattered here and there. As they flew, Vanille made sure to look at each of them and take note of how many warriors there were. It helped that Bhakti's eyes were far keener than any human's.

"How many warriors there, Bhakti?" Vanille asked, pointing at the village below them. At their height, she could only make out the glint of steel.

_One hundred on foot. Fifteen on chocobos. Tasty looking chocobos._

Vanille giggled. "No, Bhakti, we can't swoop down and eat any of the chocobos." The dragon growled. "How about we check on the other villages? What do you think, Fujin?"

The crimson-eyed woman nodded. "FOLLOW. STAY HIDDEN."

Oh. It wouldn't be much good if they were spotted while scouting the enemy. The enemy would have plenty of time to prepare.

"How do you stay hidden, Bhakti?" In truth, Vanille had never given the idea much thought. Very little was known about dragons, and Bhakti had seemed much more interested in learning her customs than explaining his. At his request, she'd even brought a few 'toys' for him to play with. His favourite was the wooden ball the children had given him.

_Up. No one ever looks up._

The dragon's mirth was almost tangible. Of course, in lands where there weren't dragons, no one had any reason to look up, and it was bothersome to keep one eye on the sky.

_Also, fly in the sun or the clouds. I can see through them anyway._

Well, that would definitely work. People couldn't look into the sun directly, and people definitely couldn't see through clouds. No wonder dragons were such fearsome predators – that and their size and fire.

And so, for the rest of the day, they trailed the other columns of the Yun. She was surprised by how many of them there were. The Yuns were thought to be a relatively small clan, albeit one that produced incredibly skilled warriors. Yet already, they had counted at least three thousand warriors on foot with another seven hundred on chocobos. There were, she noted, few archers amongst them.

As dusk fell, she guided Bhakti back toward the warriors from their village. It was astonishing to see how much ground they had covered, and she landed as they finished setting up camp for the night.

 _Night is the best time to spy._  Bhakti grinned toothily.  _Dragons can see in the dark. You can't._

"We'll have to try that next time." She rubbed her bottom. "I'm sore from all that flying."

The elder waved her over, a grin on her lips. Clearly, she'd heard Vanille's remark. "Come, it is time to eat the evening meal. There are things you need to learn, and you can tell us what you have learned."

Vanille and Fujin explained their observations to the elder and the other warriors, and it wasn't long before they were inundated with questions. The potential of a flying scout was not lost on the warriors, and for once, the other warriors seemed content to hear Fujin out. As the silver haired woman explained things in her usual stern, clipped manner, Vanille felt a smile slip across her lips. More than anything else, she wanted Fujin to find acceptance with the others. After everything she'd done for her, it was the least she deserved.

After the meal, the elder gave Vanille a few more lessons and then it was time for stories to be told and prayers to be given.

"It is a way for us to remain in harmony with each other," the elder explained. "In war, the army that eats together and lives together is the army that fights together." She chuckled. "And it never hurts to send a prayer to the gods, especially since our goddess has been known to listen." Her voice grew serious. "But never forget, young Dia, no matter how skilled you become in the arts of war and strategy, wars are not fought with pieces on a game board; they are fought by people. Keep your people well fed, well trained and well motived, and you will win. Keep them poorly fed, poorly trained and poorly motivated, and no amount of tactical skill will save you. Now, let us listen. There is one more story to tell tonight, and it is custom that the last story told each night be a story from the Old Days, the days before Cocoon fell, the days when gods walked amongst us, and our goddess did not sit alone upon her mountain."

What unfolded was a tale quite unlike anything Vanille had ever heard. Many of the stories from the Old Days had been lost during the Fall of Cocoon when the gods had gone to war. The skies had been torn asunder, entire cities laid waste in the blink of an eye. Some said that the Thunder Plains had been created during that war while others said that it had come before, in either case, Vanille could not even imagine the kind of power it would taken. Even now, centuries later, the storm upon the Thunder Plains remained as furious as ever.

But the story was also a sad one. It spoke of a goddess, though her name was not given, who had been cursed to forever lose the one she loved the most. Each time she died, the goddess would find her, and each time she would lose her again. That was to the goddess's sorrow, a burden carried until the end of time. The story concerned one lifetime of the goddess's beloved – some said it was her sister – when she had been reborn in the lands to the east.

The goddess had found the girl and raised her, and taught her the ways of the sword and the bow. The girl had grown greater in skill than any mortal, but desperate to prove herself, she had challenged a hydra. A shudder ran through Vanille at the mere mention of the beast. She had never seen one, but the stories of them were the stuff of nightmares. Hydras were abominations born from the blood of the land itself. Their blood was said to be foul poison, and they were supposed to grow to the size of dragons. It was said that in ages past, the gods had hunted most of them down, but today, a few still remained, brooding in the dark places of the world, emerging now and then to wreak havoc and ruin. No mortal had ever killed a hydra – or so Vanille believed.

But this girl… this, Averia, had slain a hydra in single combat at the cost of her own life. And the goddess had arrived to late to save her. Vanille felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Was that what it meant to be a god? A thought occurred to her, and she blanched. How many people had Fang chosen over the years? Always before one of the Chosen died, another was selected so that the Yun would always have someone to lead them. Fang had not come to her again since that day up in the mountains, but the elder had told her that Fang watched over and cared for them. Vanille believed her – why else would Fang have sent Bhakti? But what would it be like to care about so many people for so many years only to lose them over and over again? It would have driven her mad.

When the tale was done, and the camp had settled down to sleep, and sentries had been posted, Vanille went to her tent. But once again, dark dreams found her, and soon her feet carried her outside to Bhakti. The dragon had soothed her once before, perhaps he could do so again. Yet as she left her tent, a chill wind sprang up. She shut her eyes as it rustled past her, and when she opened them, she was no longer alone. Someone else stood beside Bhakti, and the dragon gave a pleased purr as the shadowy figure ran one hand along his flanks. Where was Fujin? The other woman had accompanied Vanille to her tent, yet now there was no sign of her. Slowly, she reached for the dagger at her side, only to stop as the cloud that had covered the moon moved aside.

Now she recognised the figure beside Bhakti.

Fang.

The goddess's blue clothing fluttered in the breeze, and she reached down to give Bhakti a rub behind the ears. In the moonlight, her eyes gleamed an unearthly green. Vanille stopped and look about. No one else seemed to have noticed the goddess. In fact, now that she looked, there didn't seem to be anyone else around.

"Relax." Fang smiled. "They will not notice. In fact, I am not even really here."

"I'm dreaming?" Vanille pinched her cheek and winced. That had definitely hurt.

The goddess laughed, a sound like the wind rushing through a sunlit valley. "Yes, you are dreaming."

Suddenly, Vanille was beside Fang, and Bhakti curled his tail around the two of them and sighed contentedly. Apparently, this was his version of a good dream.

"Gods can come to mortals in many ways." Fang's lips curled into a grin. "Some of us come from the sky wreathed in thunder and lightning, the whole world trembling in our wake. If you like I could come to you as a storm, my winds tearing the trees from the mountainside and sweeping away the villages."

"No, I think this is fine." Vanille nodded quickly. "Dreams are much tidier."

"They are indeed." Fang chuckled. "Besides, it is easier this way. Gods are more than mortals, Vanille, so much more, at least, in some ways. In dreams, it is easier for us to hide more of what we are. That part of us that drives mortals to their knees in supplication, that part that fills your soul with love and terror in equal measure – it is easier to diminish in dreams." She smirked. "And it is easier than putting everyone else to sleep so that we can talk uninterrupted."

"What about Bhakti?" Vanille patted the dragon's side. His scales were warm. Solid. Real.

"He is one of mine." Fang smiled. "And since he has chosen you and you have chosen him, your dreams are linked from time to time. If he knows what is best for him, he will stay here, where your dreams are shallow. Any deeper, and he might run across those things that you hold dearest and most private – those things that he should not see until you share them with him." The goddess gave the dragon a stern look, but Bhakti simply grinned and tugged Vanille closer. "I thought it would be best to keep him here while we spoke. He comforts you."

Well, she did feel much safer with Bhakti around. Even heavily dimmed, the aura about the goddess made her want to fall to he knees in worship. The dragon, however, had the opposite effect, his tail a welcome weight in her lap as he tried to wheedle another scratch behind the ears. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Perhaps we should start with what you wanted to talk about." Fang put one hand on Vanille's shoulder. "You are my Chosen, and your prayers come to me loudest of all." Vanille trembled as the full weight of Fang's divine presence bore down on her. When the goddess spoke, there was a command buried beneath the words. "Tell me, Vanille, what do you want to know?"

Mouth suddenly dry, Vanille took a few moments to gather herself. There was no malice in Fang's voice. If anything, she seemed genuinely curious. But all the same, it was impossible to ignore the difference between them. Fang had seen centuries, countless centuries, while Vanille had known only a few meagres years. Still, there was one question that had hung heavily in her mind since the previous morning.

"Why won't you do something?" Vanille asked.

"About what?"

"Oerba!" Vanille cried. "Why won't you do something to help them?" She clapped one hand over her mouth when she realised she was shouting.

Bhakti stared.  _You just shouted at a goddess._

Oh, she knew that. Quickly, she tried to bow, but Fang laughed and tugged Vanille into her arms. The goddess was warm and soft, and she smelled somehow of the wild, untamed winds that ruled the most desolate peaks of the Yun mountains. She smelled like freedom.

"And what would you have me do, my Chosen?" Fang's voice was a whisper, gentle but firm. "Would you have me descend upon the armies of Cocoon in a blaze of divine glory? I could do it, for what are a hundred thousand soldiers before the might of a god?"

Vanille trembled.

"But that would not be the end of it." Fang shook her head. "They would hate me and hate your people all the more, and for a while perhaps, their fear might be stronger than their hate, but still the day would come when that would no longer be true. They would gather again in great numbers and setting their fear aside, they would march once more upon Oerba, and I would have to strike them down again."

"But –"

"Or perhaps I could kill all of them." Fang's voice grew stern, insistent. "Every man, every woman and every child. The gods have done so before, and if I did, no child of Cocoon would ever rise to threaten your home again. What do you think of that, Vanille?"

Vanille gagged and tasted bile at the back of her throat. She wanted – needed – to save Oerba, but she couldn't and wouldn't accept that wiping out an entire people was the only way. But Fang was right. Cocoon would come again and again and again until either none of them were left or Oerba fell.

"Then what do we do?" Vanille begged. "Tell me, Fang, what do we do?"

"The gods are mighty, Vanille." Fang ruffled the red head's hair. "Before our might, even the seas must part and the skies clear. Compared to us, mortals are nothing, less than nothing, but in some things they are our equal." She smiled and it was a heartbreaking smile. "Free will, Vanille. I learned a long time ago that gods and mortals both have the right to choose, even if some of those choices do not seem like the right choices. The gods can inspire you and we can guide you, but your choices are ultimately your own. For better or for worse."

"But you could tell us what to do," Vanille said. "You've seen so much and lived so long."

"Did you know that the first Yun came from a village on the plains." Fang smirked. "In time that village would grow great beyond all others."

"Oerba…" Vanille breathed. "The first Yun was a Dia?"

"In a manner of speaking perhaps, but not really. It would be many years before the Dia became their own people, and by then the Yun were already a clan. But when she left that village and chose to climb my mountain, I watched her. Part of me thought her very foolish, for I was young then, and I did not think that any mortal would ever reach the top of my mountain. But she did. She strove for greatness, and she attained it. What would that have been worth if I told her how to get to the top, if I carried her there myself?"

"Nothing," Vanille whispered.

"Exactly." Fang stared at Vanille and her eyes seemed to see right into the heart of the young woman. "Gods can die, Vanille, though it is no easy thing. I remember when Cocoon fell and the skies were split with storms. Gods fell, so many fell. If the only peace this world knew was a peace forged by the gods, what would happen if we perished?"

"War." Vanille sighed. "There can't be peace can there, not until we make that peace ourselves."

Fang smiled. "And so you understand." Her eyes narrowed. "But you should know that two gods march with Cocoon, and that is not something I can allow. If Cocoon is to assault the walls of Oerba, they will do so without divine aid, I can promise that much." She looked away. "Something is coming, Vanille, something that has waited centuries to be settled. I do not know if I will survive it – I do not know if I can – so there is something I must ask of you. Unite the clans. Draw them to you. I know that you can do it, and you must. For in the battle that is to come, even I will not be able to stand alone. You mortals might make all the difference."

For a while after that, they sat in silence as Vanille weighed the goddess's words in her mind. They were heavy indeed, heavy enough to crush a mountain, never mind her slender shoulders. Still, she would do her best to bear that weight and justify Fang's faith in her. Finally, she spoke.

"Do you know the story of Averia?" Vanille murmured.

Fang turned very slowly. "Who told you that story?"

"They told it around the fire tonight."

"A fitting tale." Fang's gaze was unreadable. "Tell me, do you think that Averia was a fool for challenging the hydra?"

Vanille paused. "No. She just wanted the goddess to be proud of her." She looked down at her hands and at the calluses she had. "When I was young, I learned how to sew and mend things because I wanted the matron to be proud of me. I wanted her to say kind words and love me. It was only when I was older that I realised how foolish I was – she loved me anyway, but then, love makes fools of us all."

"Even the gods." For a moment, it looked as though Fang might weep.

"And she won." Vanille shook her head in wonder. "She won."

"Yes, and even now they tell the greatness of her deeds." Fang gazed up at the moon. "A fitting tribute to one so deserving."

"You knew her," Vanille whispered. "Didn't you?"

"I did." Fang smiled softly. "And I loved her."

"Were you the goddess?" Vanille asked.

"No." Fang shook her head. "As much as I loved her, there was another who loved her even more, one who would have moved the heavens and the earth to spare her even a moment's pain." Fang closed her eyes. "The goddess Lightning, she was the one who loved Averia best of all."

"Lightning?" Vanille whispered the name. "Did she ever regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Finding Averia?" Vanille wrapped her arms around herself. "To love someone only to lose them again and again. How could she bear it?" She gazed at Fang. "How can you bear it?"

"I have loved many over the years," Fang said softly. "Some were mortal and others were gods. Some I loved as brothers and sisters, and some I loved as daughters and sons. And there were others… others whom I loved even more than that, and others whom I might have loved if only they would have let me." She reached out and cupped Vanille's cheeks in her hands. "And I have grieved, Vanille, grieved as only a god can at the loss of each of them. Yet I would not trade even one moment I have spent with them to lessen that grief. Better to grieve for days long lost and loves left far behind than to never have those days and never have those loves. It is enough that I should have known them at all, and the grief in my heart is a sign that my love was true."

Tears rolled down Vanille's cheeks. "You lost Averia for she was mortal. What about Lightning? She was a goddess, wasn't she? Did you lose her too?"

Fang stepped away, vanishing on the wind. "There are some questions that do not have answers yet. Perhaps one day, I shall be able to give you one."

X X X

The next morning came, and Vanille woke, resolved to her course of action. Oerba was the greatest city of the clans, yet the infighting between them meant that all too often it was forced to stand alone. Not anymore. She would win the support of the other clans and their favour also, just as she had done with the Yun. United, the clans would be strong, and Cocoon would never again have the strength to lay siege to her home. But more than that, only once the clans were united could they even begin to consider some kind of peace with Cocoon. If Fang was right – and she had no reason to doubt the goddess – something was coming, and the clans would need all their strength to face it.

In a bid to learn as much as possible before they met with the other clans, she asked Fujin to go up with Bhakti while she remained with the elder. There was much grumbling on the part of the silver haired woman, but Bhakti was only too happy to whisk Fujin into the air, the warrior cursing under her breath the whole way. And if he did a few lazy rolls that almost knocked Fujin out of the saddle, well, that was merely a coincidence.

Throughout the day, Vanille questioned the elder about the other clans. If she could not develop the strength of a Yun, she could at least develop a mind fit to match wits with anyone. Naturally, the elder was very curious about Vanille's sudden burst of motivation, and when Vanille told her about the dream she'd had, the old woman merely nodded.

"Ah, that would explain the shiver in my bones." The elder cackled. "It is said that every warriors knows when their time has come." She rapped her shield with her spear and the chocobo beneath her bristled at the sound. "Perhaps I will get my wish and die in battle."

"You can't die," Vanille said firmly. "Not until you've taught me everything."

The elder laughed. "Cunning Dia, you know that it will take me years to teach you everything."

"Then you will simply have to live for years." They'd only known each other for a few months, but already Vanille saw the elder as someone very important in her life. Not as important as the matron – the woman who'd raised her – but definitely someone whose company she treasured. "You were telling me about one of the smaller clans, I think they were called the Zangan?"

"Technically, Zangan is the name given to their leader. They are a clan of great warriors, versed in all manner of combat, but they are especially famous for fighting barehanded. They live a life of calm and serenity on Mount Nibel. Some think they are monks, but actually, their code requires that they take up other positions while still adhering to their principles…"

And so the week passed. On most days, Vanille spent her time with the elder, learning as much as she could. As dusk fell, she would go up with Bhakti to grow accustomed to flying during the night. It was an eerie experience, watching the sun fade behind the mountains to leave the world in shadow. But for Bhakti it was easy enough, for his eyes could see in the deepest darkness. More than once, she was startled to realise that he was weaving through canyons and crags – obstacles she hadn't even noticed, but which his dragon eyes had seen as clear as day.

As they went, they met up with other columns of Yun, and at the base of the mountains, they came to a great clearing with large stones set on one side. The elder waited until all of the Yun had arrived, and then she led Vanille up onto the stones. There before her stood the full might of the Yun. Endless ranks of warriors, men and women forged in the crucible of fire and ice that was the Yun mountains. All of them resplendent in their armour, their cloaks aflutter in the breeze, their spears held at their sides. And all of them watching her and the elder.

"Look," the elder said. "These are your people, young Dia. These are the Yun."

Vanille swallowed thickly and fought to keep still. Ten thousand – the scouts said that ten thousand warriors had come on foot and another two thousand on chocobos. She had never seen an army this large, and every single one of them was a Yun warrior, born and bred in the mountain fastness. As the elder straightened and prepared to speak, the warriors began to bang their spears against their shields, a cacophony that only fell silent as the elder raised her voice.

"It has been thirty years since all the Yun went to war." The elder gazed out across the ranks of her people, and once more, pride swelled in her chest. "I led you then, as I lead you now. You know what is needed, so I will give no great speeches. I will simply say this: we will go to war and we will win."

The answering roar shook the mountains and the elder stepped aside. "Many of you have not yet met the Chosen of the Goddess. Yet I can think of no better time to let her speak." She pushed Vanille forward. "Her name is Oerba Dia Vanille, yet I think perhaps a new name is needed." Vanille froze, shocked. They hadn't discussed this. "She is one of us now. Let us call her Oerba Dia Yun Vanille, for she is Yun as much as she is Dia."

Another roar, and this time the cries of the warriors were joined by those of Bhakti as he bellowed his approval.

Slowly, Vanille stepped forward. The elder had told her how important it was that she make a good impression on the warriors. If something happened to the elder, Vanille would need the warrior's respect to rule.

"I was born in Oerba," Vanille said, and she had to fight to keep her voice even. "And I was raised there. My life was a healer's life, not a warrior's." She paused, aware of twelve thousand eyes upon her. "But I learned. On the mountain of the goddess, I learned what it meant to fight." Her voice grew sharp. "I learned that a warrior is not simply the sum of their skill with a blade or with a spear. A warrior is forged of steel with fire and ice. A warrior must be wise, and a warrior must be cunning." She thought of what Fang had said to her. "But most of all, a warrior must not go into battle needlessly. A warrior must put the clan first and strive with all their strength to keep it safe."

There was silence, only the wind whispering gently through the clearing.

"And the Yun are my clan." She threw the words out. "And the Dia are my clan, and the Al Bhed, and all the others. All of the clans are my clan." Her eyes swept over the army. "The goddess chose me, but it is only because you have accepted me and taught me that I have grown stronger. I have learned from the Honoured Elder and from all of you as well. We are all part of a clan, a clan that goes beyond the Yun, a clan that includes all the people of Gran Pulse." She took hold of the ceremonial spear the elder held and thrust it into the air. "For the clans!"

For a long moment there was silence, and then came the sound of their approval, not in shouts or yells, but the drum beat of spears on shields. Slowly, Vanille let the elder lead her away.

"You have a way with words, young Dia." The elder grinned.

Vanille handed the spear back to the elder. "I hope so – I haven't much of a way with spears."

"Perhaps, but you will learn in time." The elder pointed at the crowd of warriors eager to speak with Vanille. "Go, speak with them. Let them come to know you as I know you."

And that was exactly what Vanille did. Of course, the Yun had a very different way of getting to know each other than the Dia – it involved spears and how best to use them. Vanille did her best, and while it was clear that she was still no match for a veteran Yun warrior, she acquitted herself well, and even managed to win a few bouts against the younger warriors. They were tough, but Fujin was another matter entirely, and weeks of the crimson-eyed woman's merciless training had finally begun to pay off.

Despite her losses, she won their admiration, for no matter how badly she was knocked down, she always rose, and for a Dia, she was actually rather skilled. In fact, once they found out that she had only been training for a few months, they were quite impressed. More than one warrior immediately challenged Fujin, keen to test her mettle once they learned that she was not only Vanille's instructor, but also her bodyguard. Fujin won every bout.

They were also won over by her seemingly vast knowledge of Yun history and tactics. Those who doubted her abilities as a warrior at least acknowledge her potential as a general, and she took a certain delight in besting them in the games of strategy the Yun were fond of. The elder was kind enough to stay silent about the fact that Vanille had yet to beat her.

A few days later, the Yun army reached the plain where they were to meet the other clans. They arrived there first and set up camp near the top of a hill. The elder did not suspect any treachery, but she explained to Vanille that it was always better to be safe than sorry. A few hours after dawn, the first of the other clans arrived, and to Vanille who had rarely been beyond the walls of Oerba, the arrival of the Chocobo Knights was something to behold.

They came in a single long column, ten thousand strong. They wore thick plate armour from head to toe, as did their chocobos, and in the morning sun, their armour gleamed pale silver and blue. The chocobos that the knights rode were the largest Vanille had ever seen, and despite the weight they carried, they maintained a swift, easy pace. Instead of the spears favoured by the Yun riders, the knights carried shields and long, thick lances. Vanille had heard stories of those lances, of how they could skewer three or four men in a single strike when used at a full gallop.

"Come," the elder said. "It is our duty to greet their leaders."

Vanille was glad for Bhakti's presence beneath her as the dragon padded after the elder's chocobo to greet the knights. As they drew near, the Chocobo Knight split seamlessly into formation and parted to make way for their leaders.

"There are no finer riders in Pulse," the elder said. "The plains of Mi'ihen are even vaster than those about Oerba, and they have spent centuries perfecting their skills. In the charge, there are none deadlier." She grinned. "But do not forget your place, young Dia – you belong here."

The two leaders of the Chocobo Knights came forward and as custom dictated, they pulled off the helmets that covered their heads. The first had fiery hair, much like Vanille's own, though longer, and a bluish purple crest across her breastplate. The second had darker hair and a red crest. Both sat easily in the saddle, their chocobos seemingly calm despite Bhakti's presence. However, the red head's expression was quite stern, whereas her companion flashed Vanille a friendly smile.

"Hail and well met, Honoured Elder." The red head inclined her head. "The Chocobo Knights of Mi'ihen have come to answer Oerba's call to arms."

"And we are glad to have you." The elder smiled. "Lucil, is it?" The knight nodded. "Ah, I knew your father, and his father before him. Both were fine men and worthy warriors."

"Then I hope I can be the same." Lucil inclined her head at Vanille. "And you must be the Chosen of the Goddess." She frowned. "I thought you would be taller."

Vanille chuckled. "I get that a lot." Beneath her Bhakti gave an angry hiss, and she put one hand on his neck to calm him. "I am Oerba Dia Yun Vanille, and I am glad to have you here."

Lucil eyed Bhakti, her expression inscrutable. Most likely, she was wondering exactly how much control Vanille had over the dragon. "I see we are the first to arrive."

"You are." The elder grinned. "We weren't sure you would come."

Lucil pursed her lips. "We would not turn down a chance to fight upon the plains." She nodded at the woman beside her. "This is Elma, my second."

"Good morning." The brunette smiled cheerfully. "I hope this campaign will be a successful one." She waved at Bhakti. "Your dragon seems very nice."

"Oh, he is." Vanille laughed. "As long as you don't make him mad."

With that, Lucil and Elma turned and rode back to supervise their knights as they set up camp. There were still more clans to come, and it would be at least another day before they moved. Besides, they could hardly devise their battle plan until they knew exactly who would be there.

As the day went on, more of the clans arrived, and Vanille went with the elder to greet each of them. The next to arrive were the warriors of Balamb. Their leader was a serious, gruff young man named Squall, but his second-in-command was a much more approachable young woman named Rinoa. Whilst the elder and Squall exchanged thoughts on the coming battle, Rinoa was only too happy to explain her people's customs to Vanille. Apparently, many warriors from Balamb made a living as mercenaries, protecting trading caravans and hunting bandits. But the battle for Oerba was an opportunity they could not afford to miss. Not only would participating in it garner Balamb considerable prestige, there would undoubtedly be spoils to take from the Cocoon army.

A little after noon, a rider came, his chocobo panting with exhaustion. From his unusual spiral eyes, it was clear that he was one of the Al Bhed. He identified himself as a messenger and explained that the rest of the Al Bhed army was still several days away. Sandstorms in the desert had delayed their passage, and if they marched any faster, they would be exhausted by the time they arrived.

"That is unfortunate," the elder said. "But we cannot afford to wait several days. That would give Cocoon the better part of a week to break Oerba's walls, and while I am confident the walls will hold, the people within them will suffer greatly if we do not make haste."

In the late afternoon, two groups arrived that Vanille had not expected. The first were the Zangan. Though they were few in number – perhaps only two thousand – the respect the other clans afforded them was obvious. Even the Yun regarded the Zangan warily, and as their leader, a young woman with flowing black hair and burgundy eyes stepped forward, Vanille felt Fujin tense beside her.

"Do not judge them by appearances," the elder cautioned. "I have seen a Zangan disciple break ten men with his bare hands in the time it would have taken a skilled swordsman to gut four." She smiled. "Look at the way she moves and the way she holds herself. She is good, very good."

"I am Tifa of the Zangan." The young woman brought one fist and palm together then bowed. "I bring greetings from the mountain."

Vanille studied Tifa closely. The other woman wasn't especially tall – though her chest had Vanille feeling just a little bit envious – but she moved with a smooth, measured elegance that hinted at a skill only a few could ever hope to attain. More than that, however, there was an air of warmth and serenity about her that somehow put Vanille instantly at ease. This must be the fabled warrior's calm possessed by adepts in the Zangan martial arts.

"Tifa?" The elder's lips twitched. "I remember visiting Mount Nibel some time ago. Zangan had a pupil then, a little girl that he thought very highly of. Are you that Tifa?"

Tifa nodded. "I am." She smiled. "I'm honoured that you remember me."

The elder laughed. "I'm not senile yet." She grinned. "So, where is your master? I hope he isn't dead. I quite liked him."

Vanille's eyes widened, but Tifa merely chuckled. The elder and the Zangan must know each other quite well for such words to inspire only mirth.

"He is still alive," Tifa said. "Though he complains incessantly about his age and the cold on the mountain. He sends his regrets that he cannot come himself – he believes it is time to let the younger generation do more of the work." She paused, and her lips quirked upward at the edges. "He also said that you should consider doing likewise."

The elder rolled her eyes. "That old codger. He is probably lazing about as usual." She nodded at Tifa. "There is still space near our camp. If you wish, you can set up there."

It was a generous offer, Vanille knew, and a sign of the elder's esteem as well. Before she left, Tifa turned and studied Vanille closely.

"You are the Chosen of the Goddess?"

"Yes."

Tifa smiled gently. "She chose well." And then she was off, leading her people to settle in beside the Yun.

"What did she mean by that?" Vanille asked.

The elder was quiet for a moment. "The Zangan are good at reading people. It's one of the reasons they are so skilled in martial arts." Her gaze flicked past the Zangan to the next group, which was the smallest by far. "Now, this is interesting."

Vanille followed her gaze. The group in question was made up of only a few hundred warriors, but even so, they drew the eye of almost everyone there. Part of it had to be the weapons they carried – each man or woman carried a single massive sword upon their back. Just looking at the weapons made Vanille's arms hurt. She doubted three of her could have lifted a sword that size, never mind actually used it in combat.

At the head of these warriors was a tall man with spiky black hair, but it was only when he lifted his face to stare openly at Vanille and the elder that she understood why everyone was staring. His eyes were a brilliant, glittering blue, far brighter than was natural. The eyes of all of the warriors behind him were likewise unnaturally bright, and she realised at once who these people were. They were the cousins of the Cetra, the hardy folk who lived in the desolate wastes of the North Crater.

"I cannot say that I have met many of your kind, but you, I do remember, Zack Fair." The elder's lips curled. "You haven't aged a day since the last time I saw you."

Zack picked at one of the bangs that framed his face and showed the elder a few strands of grey amongst all the black. "I wouldn't say that, Honoured Elder. But, of course, my people don't age the same way yours do."

"No, they do not." The elder smiled. "Still, I am grateful that you have come and brought so many with you. But how did you know to come? No man or woman has set foot into the North Crater for decades and lived. The power that lingers there is still too much for mortals to bear."

Zack grinned and then looked at Vanille. "I will tell you in a moment, but who is this?" He reached forward to take Vanille's hand only to pause as Fujin let out a hiss and put one hand on the hilt of her sword. "Ah, a bodyguard. You must be the Chosen of the goddess."

"Yes.' Vanille nodded. "I am Oerba Dia Yun Vanille."

"A lovely name for a lovely lady." Zack grinned.

"Ignore him." The elder rolled her eyes, a reaction that was mimicked by the blonde swordsman who stood a few steps behind Zack. "He has always been like this, and will ever be so. Tell me, Zack, how did you know?"

Zack sighed dramatically. "So cold, Honoured Elder. The years have made you cranky." He dodged a lazy swipe of the elder's spear. "I remember when I first visited the Yun. You were such a beauty then, and your temper was far milder. Truly the years can be unkind." The elder rapped him over the shoulder with the shaft of her spear. "Anyway… perhaps it would be best if I explained a few things for the benefit of your Chosen here. After all, she does not know my people nearly as well as you."

"Thank you." Vanille listened eagerly. Very little was written about the people of the North Crater, and Zack was the first one she'd ever talked to. They seldom ventured from their home, and even then, they often went about in disguise, their faces hidden.

"My pleasure." Zack grinned again. "I take it you have heard of the Cetra?" Vanille nodded. "Long ago, when the battle for Cocoon was fought, the great goddess Aerith, creator of the Cetra and mother to the Forest of Ancients, went north to face the greatest of her enemies – the traitor goddess Jenova. But Jenova was not alone, and so Aerith brought many of the Cetra with her. In the battle that followed, Aerith and Jenova devastated the lands of the north and carved out the North Crater. Aerith was able to drive Jenova into hiding, but the Cetra who had gone with her were caught in the maelstrom of the two goddesses' power. They were changed, made different from their kin who had remained behind to guard the forest."

"And that's where you come from," Vanille murmured. "That's why your eyes…"

"Yes, that's why our eyes are so unusual." Zack shrugged. "A gift and a curse, like our longevity and strength. Like the Cetra, we are more than men but less than gods, but unlike our brethren in the forest, we are tainted by Jenova's power. It is something we must always fight, and it is why we chose to remain in the north rather than return to the forest."

"That seems very sad," Vanille said.

"Perhaps, but you forget, it's been a very long time. There are none amongst us now who can remember the days when we lived in the forest. The North Crater is our home now, and we are happy there." Zack smiled faintly. "And as for how we knew to come, well, we may no longer live in the forest, but Aerith is still our goddess, and she remains a friend to your goddess. Our priests and priestesses received signs from our goddess that we should venture south, and here we are."

"And glad we are to have you." The elder sighed. "Now, go set up camp, and try not to make trouble."

Zack chuckled. "I will do my best." He waved lazily at the blonde behind him who wore a dour expression. "This is Cloud, he is my second-in-command. Try not to let his grouchiness bother you for he was born that way."

The blonde made a disgusted sound, which drew a giggle from Vanille. "Zack, stop being a fool." He grabbed the taller man by the collar of his tunic. "Stop dawdling, we were told to set up camp."

As Cloud dragged Zack away, Vanille giggled again. It was striking how different all of the clans and their people were. Some were serious and some were light hearted. Some were proud and some were humble. But all had come to fight.

Just before dusk, the last of the clans arrived. From the graceful script on their banners and the flowing garments some of them wore, Vanille guessed they were from Wutai. They had perhaps the single largest contingent with thousands of archers, cavalry, infantry and others who were dressed quite casually yet moved with the ease of highly trained warriors. At the head of the army, riding a golden chocobo was a girl even younger than Vanille.

The girl was dressed almost entirely in black save for a white headband. Her eyes were dark brown, and her shoulder length hair was the same black colour common to the people of Wutai. Her expression as she gracefully dismounted her chocobo was one of august calm and serenity. Yet it was ruined only moments later, when she swayed and put one hand up to her mouth.

For a second, all Vanille could do was stare. Did this girl get motion sick riding a chocobo? Surely not, otherwise they were in a lot of trouble. Beside her, the elder shared a sceptical look with the other clan leaders that had gathered to meet the army from Wutai. Well aware of the stares she was receiving, the girl all but bounced back to her feet.

"I am Yuffie Kisaragi, the White Rose of Wutai." She inclined her head. "And I come to answer the call to arms."

"You must be Godo's daughter then." The elder's brows furrowed. "Where is your father?"

The girl shifted nervously from one foot to the other and behind her, two of her warriors covered their faces with their hands.

"Chekov, Staniv, stop doing that!" Yuffie cleared her throat. "My father suggested that it might be beneficial for me to study the arts of war under an accomplished general, like yourself, Honoured Elder." Then she added, in a conspiratorial whisper, "It was either that or get married to some stuffy noble."

"I see." The elder rubbed her forehead. "Well, we are glad to have you and your warriors with us. There is space a little further to the south that you can use to set up camp."

Yuffie nodded quickly. "Great. I'll go do that then." As she walked off, she spotted Tifa, and to Vanille's absolute surprise, the princess grabbed the other woman by the arm. "Tifa! I didn't expect to see you here! You were supposed to visit last summer to help me with my training and…"

Once Yuffie and the other clan leaders were out of earshot, the elder turned to Vanille. "Good grief, I'm going to strangle Godo the next time I see him."

Vanille winced. She could certainly understand the elder's frustration. All of the other clan leaders were seasoned warriors. Yuffie seemed well… not.

"Make no mistake, young Dia, Yuffie is well trained. In single combat, I have no doubt that she can hold her own – custom demands that Wutai royalty become quite accomplished in combat – but there is a difference between being a good fighter and being a good general." The elder sighed. "It has been a long, long day, young Dia. Get some rest. In an hour, I will call the clan leaders together to discuss our course of action."

X X X

The meeting between the clan leaders went about as well as Vanille had expected. It started cordially enough with introductions and meaningless small talk, but once the time came to discuss their battle plans, the divides between the clans quickly became obvious. Each clan had its own specialties and each clan was determined to have these brought to the fore.

"We must ride out and meet them!" Lucil banged one hand down on the table at the centre of the tent where the clan leaders were meeting. "We will break them in the charge and scatter their bones across the plains."

"Yes," Squall drawled. "And they won't see you coming from miles away? Oerba is a plain, if they've any eyes in their head, they'll form up long before you get there. Even the finest cavalry is useless against good infantry that holds its ground and is properly supported. Besides, it's Cocoon, they will almost certainly have pikemen."

"And what would you suggest?" Lucil countered. "Your people are mercenaries. When was the last time you fought a proper war?"

Squall's eyes narrowed, but he refused to rise to the insult. For her part, Vanille agreed with him. There were countless examples of fine infantry armed with pikes or spears holding firm against even heavy cavalry like the Chocobo Knights, and whatever its failings, Cocoon had long produced good infantry and archers.

"Cavalry has a place, I agree, but it must be used wisely." Squall frowned. "And I'm assuming you were listening when Vanille told us of her dream. They have gods on their side."

"And our goddess has promised to hold them off." Lucil scowled. "And she is mighty."

Zack winced. "And you are forgetting that even if your goddess is mighty, battles between gods rarely leave the landscape untouched." He glanced at Vanille. "Has your goddess said which gods are on Cocoon's side?"

"No." Vanille shook her head. "She didn't tell me that. But she seemed worried."

Zack pursed her lips. "Then I am worried too. Any gods strong enough to worry your goddess and mine are not the kind we should ignore."

"We could always take their army by subterfuge," Yuffie suggested. "Wutai has the finest ninjas in the world, and amongst them I am the best. Give me one night and a few hours, and I'll have Cocoon running for the hills."

"And how will your ninjas infiltrate their camp?" Squall countered. "The open plains are no place for ninjas, and they will have had days to fortify their position."

"Well, at least I'm suggesting something." Yuffie scowled. "All you've done is criticise."

From there, the discussion quickly devolved into a shouting match as Lucil and Yuffie rounded on Squall, who for his part continued to fire back in the same stoic manner as before. Zack tried to calm things down, but his attempts were thwarted as the representatives of the other smaller clans turned on each other as well.

The sound of it was enough to make Vanille's ears ring, and the sight of it was beyond disheartening. Fang had asked her to unite the clans, but how was she supposed to do that when they couldn't even have a civil conversation with one another?

"Don't worry," the elder advised with a chuckle. "This always happens. Usually, it is best to let them yell themselves hoarse. Then you can speak, and they have no choice but to listen." She studied Vanille keenly. "But you have a plan don't you?" She pointed at the map on the table that Vanille had been examining closely for some time now. "Is that right, young Dia?"

Vanille nodded. She did have a plan, though she did not know how well it would be received. She'd put it together over the course of the day, her mind updating it each time another clan had arrived. Still, she needed to try. Gingerly, she cleared her throat. Nothing. She tried shouting, but her voice was lost in the din. As she was about to resign herself to following the elder's advice – and sitting through even more yelling – a single word cut through the air.

"Enough!"

It could hardly have been called a shout, but it was still the first word that Tifa had spoken for the better part of an hour. That combined with the Zangan adept rising to her feet was enough to silence the others. It could also have had something to do with the fist she'd brought down on the table with enough force to crack the thick wood.

"We are allies, are we not?" Tifa smiled to take the edge off her words. "Allies should be friends, and friends need not yell for hours on end to make their points to each other." She nodded at Vanille. "All of you are here out of either duty or love of glory, and that is well enough, but there is one here who is concerned only with the survival of Oerba. Let her speak."

Grudgingly, the others fell silent and Vanille gave Tifa a heartfelt smile of gratitude. Later, she would have to find some way to make it up to the other woman.

"I was born and raised in Oerba," Vanille said. "And I know the land around it better than any of you." Someone made to interrupt, but she silenced the interloper with a glare. She might not know as much about weapons as the others here, but she knew a lot about Oerba. "The land around is Oerba is mostly flat, especially beside the city. However, there are hills and dips that can be used for cover." She pointed to the map. "This map is not entirely accurate." She ran one finger along the map just south of the city. "There is a rise here that can be used to hide some of our warriors, and every time Cocoon has attacked Oerba, it has concentrated its fire on where the walls are thinnest – the southeast corner of the city."

"So what would you suggest?" Squall asked. His eyes had narrowed in contemplation.

"All of our clans are different." She nodded firmly. "The Yun are mostly heavy infantry, others like the Chocobo Knights are almost entirely cavalry, and Balamb and Wutai offer a mix of warriors. If we want to win, we needed to put all of our strengths to work." She pointed once again at the southeast corner of the city. "I can scout ahead to make sure they're where I think they'll be, but I believe it would best for the Yun to attack there."

"Oh?" Squall gazed at her intently. She had his full attention now. "Explain."

"The Yun fight in a phalanx, a solid mass of spears and shields, at least that's how they fight on the plains. That kind of formation is very good at keeping an opponent in one place because it can very easily break through a poorly defended centre." Vanille glanced quickly at the elder. The old woman gave a nod of approval, and Vanille nearly sagged in relief. Clearly, she'd learned something from all of the texts she'd read and the lessons the old woman had given her. "But the phalanx does have weaknesses."

"It is slow to turn and vulnerable on the sides." Squall smiled thinly. "Yes, I know. The Balamb and Yun have not always been on friendly terms, and we keep very good records." He folded his hands on the table. "You intend to put some of us on the sides."

"On the left side only." The elder's eyes widened and then she started to chuckle. Vanille hoped that was a good sign. "The weakest side of the phalanx is its right side because the Yun carry their shields on their left. What that means is that each warrior protects the person on their left. I plan to leave that side of the phalanx with as little support as possible."

"And if they break?" Zack asked. "I mean no offence, but if they run, we're all dead."

"They will not run." The elder grinned. "Our finest warriors go on the right side precisely because of that." She looked carefully at Vanille. "I think I know what you are planning, but it might be prudent to have some of our warriors further back to offer support in case it is needed."

"If you know," Lucil said. "Then share it with the rest of us."

Vanille nodded quickly. "It's a trap. When Cocoon sees our exposed right side, they will, hopefully, go after it. And when they do." She pointed at the hills to the south of the where the battle would be fought. "That's when you and your Chocobo Knights come out of hiding."

Lucil's lips curled, and the knight began to laugh. "I see it. They will rush to attack our right flank thinking to break us, but in doing so, they will leave themselves even more vulnerable to the charge."

"Exactly!" Vanille grinned. "And once you break that attack, you can charge their left flank as well while the Yun push down the middle." She patted the map. "They'll be trapped between us and the walls."

"I like it." Zack chuckled. "Not bad for someone so young." Vanille grinned.

"What about the city?" Yuffie asked. The younger woman had gone very quiet during the discussion, but now her eyes were flicking over the map. "If they've breached the walls by the time we get there things are going to get complicated."

Vanille smiled. "That's where your ninjas, the Zangan and Zack's people come in."

It took another two hours for Vanille to explain the rest of her plan in detail, and there was a lot of discussion and tweaking to be done in the days to come, but in the end, the others agreed that it seemed sound. The only thing better than having everyone actually discussing things rather than yelling was the gentle smile of approval the elder gave her. If the old woman thought it was a good plan, then it had to be okay.

By the time they were finished for the night, Vanille was exhausted. As the others returned to their tents, she was sorely tempted to ask Fujin to carry her. Not only did she doubt the other woman would agree – Fujin was convinced that she needed a lot more toughening up – but it would look quite pathetic to have to be carried back.

As she and Fujin headed for their tent, she caught sight of Tifa.

"Tifa!" Vanille shouted. "Could I talk to you for a second?" Beside her, Fujin's eyes narrowed.

The Zangan adept nodded, and the three of them went up to a rocky outcrop that overlooked the camp. It was quiet up there and private, and the view was very nice with the army spread out below them and the stars above.

"I wanted to thank you for helping me back there." Vanille bowed her head. "We weren't really doing anything except arguing, but at least now we've got a plan."

Tifa waved one hand. "It was nothing, and it was good to see that the goddess chose wisely."

Vanille flushed. "I don't want to pry, but why did you help me?"

Tifa looked out across the camp. "What do you see?"

"Tents. Lots of tents." Beside Vanille, Fujin chuckled.

"That's right." Tifa settled down on the edge of the rock, her legs dangling over the side. "But look at how they are arranged. The Yun stay in one place, the Balamb in another, and the Wutai in still another." She looked down at her hands. "We have a saying amongst the Zangan: the right hand should never forget the left. The greatest strength of Cocoon is that its people are united. They are misguided, yes, but united. But look at the clans, Vanille. We are proud of our heritage and our past, but those things are also what keep us apart." She smiled faintly. "Did you know that amongst the Zangan, a person cannot become an adept without spending several years amongst the other clans?"

"No." The Zangan were a private people for the most part. "Where did you go?"

"I went to as many of the other clans as I could, and I learned what I could, and helped those I could." Tifa grinned. "I even snuck into Cocoon." She laughed at Vanille's startled expression. "It was not easy, and I had to be very careful, but I saw a lot. I saw towns filled with people, children playing in fields and metal smiths had at work. I saw that they were a people very much like our own." She paused. "I remember especially well the time I spent in a dusty, dirty, horrible town. I met a man and his daughter there; they were doing their very best to look after all the town's orphans."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Vanille asked.

All of a sudden, the air grew heavy. The warrior that slumbered inside Tifa came to the fore, and the raven-haired woman's burgundy eyes flashed in the darkness. Next to Vanille, Fujin's hand tightened on her spear.

"What will you do if we win?" Tifa asked. Her gaze caught and held Vanille's. "Will you kill them without mercy, will you chase them back to their borders?"

"I will drive them from Oerba," Vanille replied.

"And then what? Will you pursue them? Will you lay waste their cities to teach them a lesson once their armies are broken?" Tifa spoke softly, but even so, the pressure in the air remained.

Vanille's eyes widened. So this was what Tifa wanted to know. She shook her head. "No. If they come to harm me or mine, then I will do whatever it takes to drive them away. But I don't want revenge. What I want…" Her voice grew soft. "What I want is peace, even if it seems impossible. Peace between the clans and Cocoon."

Tifa's smile was beautiful, and the pressure in the air vanished. "And now you understand why I helped you. The way of the Zangan is the way of serenity. We fight when it is needed, but never without cause. We kill when we must, but never more than we have to. Too often the other clans misunderstand our way of life. True, we learn to fight, but our way is about more than breaking the enemy – it is about making ourselves unbreakable. A Zangan adept has mastery over their heart and their body, and what greater strength is there than that? And once I have that strength, why should I seek combat except in the defence of others?"

For a long time, Vanille was silent. Tifa's words were strange, yet something about them rang true. The elder was the greatest warrior she'd ever met. Yet she could hardly imagine the old woman advocating war for the sake of it. Even Fujin whose temper was somewhat less than mild rarely took up arms outside of sparring unless there was a very good reason.

"What would you do to make the world a better place?" Vanille asked.

"We are not gods," Tifa replied. "We are mortals. I cannot change the whole world and neither can you." She patted the spot beside her. "But I can change what is around me. I offered your friendship today, but I could just as easily have offered you scorn. Likewise, you have shown only humility and a willingness to learn, but had you desired, you could have shown only arrogance and pride. Little things, Vanille, often add up to big things. I have learned that the best way to change the world is often to start out with the small things, the things you can change. In time, it will be possible to change bigger things. If you and I can be friends, then perhaps one day our clans can be friends. If you start by trying to change the whole world at once, you get nowhere, and there are some things that even the gods cannot change, never mind us mortals."

Vanille huffed good-naturedly. "How did you get so wise?"

"Practice." Tifa grinned and hopped back to her feet. "And alcohol. When I travelled amongst the other clans, I often found work in taverns – I'm actually quite good at making food and drink."

Vanille giggled. Somehow, it was hard to imagine the warm, serene Zangan adept making drinks and meals in a tavern. Then again, some of the wisest people she'd known in Oerba were the tavern owners who put up with all the rambling drunks.

"ENOUGH." Fujin jerked her head at the camp. "SLEEP."

"Is she your bodyguard?" Tifa asked.

Vanille nodded. "Yes, Fujin is my bodyguard. She's also my friend."

"I see." Tifa tilted her head to one side. "Then I hope you will forgive me."

"Forgive you?" Vanille's frowned. "For what?"

Tifa's answer came in a blur of movement. In one smooth lunge, she crossed the gap between her and Fujin. Her left hand whipped up, knocking the spear out of Fujin's hand, as her right hand caught the silver haired woman's shield and tossed it aside. Then Tifa lashed out with a kick aimed right at Fujin's head. Vanille had never seen anyone move that fast, and for a split-second, she was certain Fujin would be hit. But if the loss of her weaponry bothered her, Fujin gave no sign of it. Instead, she ducked beneath the kick, and replied with one of her own that Tifa dodged easily.

Then the two women met again in a terrifying dance of feet, fists, elbows and knees that had Vanille gaping in awe. As good as Fujin was – and she was very, very good – Tifa forced her back and back until finally, the dark haired woman grabbed hold of Fujin and tossed her over her shoulder. The crimson-eyed woman landed in a crouch, and then leapt back as Tifa surged forward and brought one foot down on the rock with enough force to actually crack it.

Fujin hissed and used the lull in the fight to draw her sword only for Tifa to relax and hold up both hands.

"You're very good. I can see why the Honoured Elder chose you to watch over Vanille."

Slowly, Fujin sheathed her sword. "HOLDING BACK."

"So were you." Tifa grinned. "Perhaps after the battle, we can have a proper sparring match." She bent down and picked up a rock. Mischief shimmered in her eyes as she tossed it up into the shadow above them.

"Ouch!" Yuffie tumbled out of the darkness and landed lightly on her feet. The young woman shot Tifa a nasty scowl. "What was that for?"

"Eavesdropping is not polite." Tifa smiled. "And if you'd actually been silly enough to sneak up on Fujin, she could easily have stabbed you."

"Hah!" Yuffie folded her arms over her chest. "I'm too good for that. Besides, I was kind of curious to know where the leader of the Zangan was going with the heir to the Yun. It wouldn't do for Wutai to miss out on any potential alliances."

Vanille giggled. She'd never met a princess before, but somehow, she doubted that sneaking around was something they were supposed to do. "If you heard everything, then you should know I want an alliance with everybody."

"Well, I can't speak for my father." Yuffie scoffed. "But it sounds like a good idea." She shrugged. "Vinne certainly seems to think so."

"Vinne?"

Yuffie winced. "Forget I said anything. He doesn't like it when I talk about him. Royal secret and all that."

"I see." Vanille fought to hold back a chuckle.

"Hey! Don't laugh."

"In any case, it is late." Tifa looked pointedly at Yuffie. "We have long days ahead of us, so we should all get some rest."

X X X

Fang floated in the night sky over Oerba. The Cocoon army had arrived the previous morning, and had quickly gone to work. A cordon had been put in place around the city, and siege weapons had already begun to bombard the walls. However, they hadn't had much success so far. The walls of Oerba were at least one hundred feet high and fifty feet thick – proof against even the mightiest of siege weapons. But even those walls would not stand against the fury of a god, and so she had come to learn the intentions of the gods that walked with Cocoon.

"Caius!" she shouted. "Show yourself!"

The air around her stirred, and for a moment, the clamour of battle beneath her faded. Every second became an hour, and each hour became a lifetime. Beside her, a flock of birds seemed frozen, their wings caught mid beat. Even the moon's light seemed to dull and fade as though a hundred thousand centuries had passed and all the world had fallen into ruin. And then the space in front of her rippled and parted, as though torn asunder by vast, divine hands. Her lips curled. In truth, that was exactly what had happened.

Then Caius was there in the sky, not thirty feet from her. He was exactly as she remembered, his purple hair left to flow almost freely, the glittering feathers of a phoenix woven into it. His sword was nowhere to be seen, though she knew that he could summon it with nothing more than a thought. His black armour gleamed in the moonlight, the violet runes that dotted its surface alight with power. But it was his eyes that worried her. He had always been calm, but now, his eyes were filled with cold fire – a cold fire she had seen once before many years ago, when she had faced Lightning in the skies above Cocoon. A quiver ran through the air, and time returned to normal as the din of battle rose up from the city beneath them.

"It has been a very long time, Fang." His lips curled every so slightly, but his voice was devoid of emotion. They might as well have been discussing the weather. "What brings you here, sister?"

Fang bristled. Like her and Lightning, Caius owed his existence to the High Mother, yet she could feel the High Father's taint all over him. Had he switched sides? Even if he had, it would not be wise to antagonise him. His grasp over his powers had always been good, and although she had grown stronger over the years, he had once been amongst the mightiest of the High Mother's servants – and one of the most faithful also. Just like Lightning.

"Yes, it has been quite some time." Fang's eyes narrowed. "You are wise, Caius, so I will not waste words with you. Why can I feel the High Father's power upon you? Are you with him?"

Caius was silent for a long moment as he took her measure. Around them, she could feel his power gathering; it made the very fabric of reality around them shake. "And if I am?"

"Then I would ask why." Fang's expression darkened, and all about them, the winds kicked up. "You know what he tried to do. You know why Lightning struck him down. You were once one of the High Mother's most beloved children, what has he promised you to buy your loyalty?"

Caius lifted one hand and Fang tensed. Over his hand, an image appeared of a young, blue haired woman dressed in a simple white dress with flowers tucked into her hair. Fang stiffened. She knew that woman, or at least, she'd known her.

"How many tears have you shed for Lightning and her sister?" Caius waved his hand and the image vanished. "Too many to count, I think. Yet have you spared even one for Yeul? You remember her, I hope, the mortal chosen by the High Mother to be her prophet and voice amongst the people." His brows furrowed. "Do you have any idea what it is like for a mortal to touch the mind of a god like the High Mother? I do. I watched as the Yeul suffered, her soul all but extinguished like a candle before the storm of the High Mother's power, and for what? So the High Mother could have yet another poor soul to spread her message?"

"Is that why you have betrayed us, Caius?" Fang murmured.

"I watched Lightning, Fang, for I understood her grief best of all. Three times, you could say she lost her sister: once when she became a mortal, once again when that mortal died, and a third time when Averia fell." Caius snarled. "She loved her sister. I love Yeul! But where Lightning lost her thrice, I have lost Yeul a dozen, no, more than a dozen times! And now, if that were not enough, Yeul no longer hears the voice of the High Mother. Now, all she hears are the echoes of the High Mother's last tormented cry. It is suffering without end, sorrow without cease, and I will not stand it any longer. I love her, but even if she were my worst enemy, I would not suffer her to live in such agony."

Fang's mind went at once to the Old Days. Caius had never been social, even then, but always he had seemed on pleasant terms with the High Mother. How long had it taken for this madness to build? "And what can the High Father offer you?" Unbidden, her mind went once again, to the words she had exchanged with Lightning so many years ago. "You know his promises are lies."

"To Lightning perhaps, but not to me." Caius smiled thinly. "I will free Yeul from the endless cycle of death and rebirth, and I will quiet the voice of the High Mother. The High Father can do these things for me."

"He cannot!' Fang roared. "Have you forgotten what happened when we cast Cocoon to the ground? You were there, Caius! You know that he spoke falsely to Lightning. You know what it would cost to do what you want."

"And that is the difference between Lightning and me." Caius shrugged. "Lightning could never stand the thought of her sister despising her, and so she could never accept the High Father's terms. Trade the world for her sister? Serah would have hated her, and so Lightning turned away from the High Father. But I am different, Fang. I do not care if Yeul despises me. I do not care if she curses my name. So long as she is free, so long as the cycle of death and rebirth is broken and a new order is put in place, then I can bear her hatred, would bear it gladly. As the one ordered to stand watch over her for all eternity, that is the least I can do."

"You are mad." Fang shook her head. "You cannot weigh Yeul's life against the lives of all other mortals."

"I can, Fang, and I have." Caius folded his arms over his chest. "Leave. We were allies once, so I will permit you the chance to live. Trouble me and the High Father no more, and we shall spare you."

Power gathered around Fang, and suddenly the air beneath her turned a deep, bloody red. A shadow covered the moon, and darkness gathered in a vast, swirling maelstrom below her.

"Come forth," she murmured. "The spear that can pierce the heart of the world, the lance that no enemy can withstand. I call you, name you, and bind you to my will. Come forth, the God-Slaying –" Caius pulled something from the folds of his cloak, and she froze. "Impossible…"

The other god smiled and held up a vibrant, glowing crystal that shone like a small star. "You had best stop there, Fang. You know what this is."

"The Heart of Etro…" It was the very core of the High Mother's being. Only once before had she seen it, tumbling through the sky after the Fall of Cocoon when the High Mother herself been lost, her powers expended in a last, desperate bid to limit the damage the High Father had done. "Where did you get that?"

"She was the one who told me to take it." Caius smiled. "For I was her favoured son, and you had your Yun to watch. I was to tend it and gather enough power for her to be reborn. Of course, there are other things such power might be used for."

"I will kill you for this treachery." Fang gathered her power again. "I swear it, Caius."

"Perhaps you should worry more about Oerba."

"Their walls will never fall." Fang snarled. "No mortal power can destroy them, and you are a fool if you think I will let you bring them down."

"True, if we were to fight, I do not know which one of us would win. But even weakened, there is one far stronger than you." He closed his eyes. "High Father!"

Fang gasped. Above them, the sky tore. This was no mere side effect of the High Father's power, the way Caius's appearance had slowed down time. No, like the High Mother, the High Father was an impossibility given form, a being so incalculably powerful that the world itself bowed to the force of his will. And like the High Mother, the shape he wore – an old man's – was nothing more than a shell, a means of concealing a power so tremendous that to see it clearly would drive even a god to the brink of madness.

But there, in the sky above Oerba, she caught a glimpse of the swirling, seething chaos that was the High Father. The old man was cast aside, and in its place was a vast, limitless span of gleaming metal wrought in thousand different shades. Imbedded in it were countless faces, their mouths opened to give voice to endless hymns of praise to the High Father.

"It is said that no man can tear down the walls of Oerba." Caius allowed a small smile to cross his lips. "But a god is another matter entirely."

And from the maelstrom that was the High Father, there came a sound like a million peals of thunder all at once. It echoed not in her ears, but in her soul, and in that instant, she realised that she had been fooled. As she and Caius had talked, the Cocoon army had moved away from the city. Caius had planned this all along.

There was a flash from the maddening chaos of the High Father, and Fang felt a blast of raw, world-shattering power streak toward Oerba. It was a power she had not felt in centuries, a power that could boil oceans and crush mountains. It was the power of the High Father, and before it, nothing mortal could hope to endure. And if that was not bad enough, she could sense in the distance, but growing swiftly closer, a dragon with two riders on it. Vanille, her companion and Bhakti. The blast would destroy not only Oerba, but everything around it as well. A young dragon like Bhakti would have no chance, would be nothing more than a leaf in a storm, cast aside and broken upon the ground, if the blast did not simply consume him and those he carried in mid air.

"Caius!" she spat.

But the purple haired man merely glanced down at Oerba. His meaning was clear. She could strike at him and the High Father, but that would mean leaving the city to its fate. And he knew what she would choose. He had known since the moment they'd met. In a blaze of divine glory, she raced down and landed upon the walls of Oerba where the blast would land.

"Run!" she shouted to the mortals who had dropped to their knees in awe at her appearance. "Run far and run fast!"

And then she turned her eyes to the sky. A second sun was falling, a brilliant, blinding sphere of raw heat and power. It raced down toward Oerba, growing larger with each moment, until it was almost as large as the city itself. Gathering all of her power, Fang rose up to meet it.

The blast hit her head on, and she cast her power out in all directions to contain it. But it was like trying to catch the sun. It was too big, too strong, too much for her to overpower or throw back. All she could do was stand in its path and hope to weather its storm in place of the city. White-hot light enveloped her, and the whole world faded, replaced by a tempest of radiance and fury that dwarfed anything she'd ever endured. She had grown stronger over the years, but even weakened, the High Father was still beyond her.

On and on it went, an endless conflagration of might and thunder that tore at the air, the sky and even her soul. Step by step, it forced her back, and she felt it strain to reach the city behind her. It was growing, building, roaring and then it exploded, and all she could do was throw all the power she had left at it in a desperate bid to save as much of the city as she could.

The blast lit the sky, and for a moment, the night was as bright as day. She tumbled down, carried on the shockwave of the explosion, until she was thrown through the walls of the city with enough force to carve a trench more than a mile long. But even as the entire eastern wall of the city collapsed, she felt a stab of triumph. The wall had fallen, but the city still stood. Oerba yet remained.

And then the darkness closed in, and she knew no more.

X     X     X

**Author's Notes**

As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.

First of all, my apologies for making you all wait so long. It wasn't quite as bad as the four month delay last year between two of the chapters, but I had hoped to get this out sooner. Second, congratulations for making it this far! This is the longest chapter to date (I think), and anyone who made it through (especially in one sitting) deserves a hug and a marshmallow.

So, where to start? This chapter is one that I've been hinting at for some time. At last, we have the conflict between Cocoon and the clans, and at last the High Father shows his hand. The choice of Caius as his helper was a very deliberate one. Caius's past in Final Fantasy XIII-2 is similar, in some respects, to what I've put Lightning through in this story, so I decided to play up on that angle and make his ordeal similar to Lightning's by having him love Yeul and constantly have to watch her die and be reborn as Lightning has watched Serah die and be reborn. The difference, of course, lies in something Caius hints at. There are some things Lightning will not do because she could not bear it if Serah hated her. Caius, however, is willing to do anything to 'save' Yeul.

I couldn't resist giving Caius the Heart of Etro here either. Honestly, giving Caius the Heart of Chaos in Final Fantasy XIII-2 must be one of the most questionable decisions I've ever seen a supposedly superior being make (what was Etro thinking?), but here I've given it an alternate purpose and a more plausible reason for being in his possession. Unlike Lightning who (it's already been implied) rebelled, Caius seemed faithful to the last. In many ways, he is everything Lightning could have been, and that's part of what shakes Fang so badly. She's had this conversation before and it did not end well.

And about this chapter's ending… yeah. Please, put away your stakes and pitchforks. If you kill me, I can't write the next chapter. And speaking of the next chapter… man, I have seven thousand words of material that got cut from this chapter, so hopefully that next chapter won't take as long.

As for Vanille… I wanted this chapter to showcase some of her growth. She's still unsure of herself, and she's still got a lot of room to grow, but there's nothing like a crisis to speed things along. And she gets it. Cocoon is unified, the clans are not, and as long as that remains true, Cocoon will always be a threat. That's why I like writing scenes with her and the elder. There is such a contrast there between them, yet at their core, they share many of the same beliefs.

With regards to the other clans, we really don't know too much about the other clans of Gran Pulse, so I decided to kind of borrow them from elsewhere. You'll probably recognise them, but in case you didn't, I'll go over each of them quickly.

The Wutai and Yuffie are taken from Final Fantasy VII, in which Yuffie really is the princess of Wutai, and Godo really is her father. She has the same mischievous sort of personality here as in that game, but instead of getting motion sick from travelling in vehicles, I thought I'd let her get motion sick on a chocobo. Tifa is likewise from Final Fantasy VII, and she comes from Nibelheim, which is near Mount Nibel. As for the Zangan – that was the name of her martial arts instructor, but here I've used it to describe a whole clan of people who practice a philosophy not dissimilar to that adopted by some of the older martial arts from eastern Asia.

Zack and Cloud are also from Final Fantasy VII, and I chose to make them 'tainted' Cetra based on the events in that game. In Final Fantasy VII, Jenova crashed on Gaia, creating what would come to be known as the North Crater (where Zack and his people come from in this story). Jenova was later mistakenly identified as being one of the Cetra, and Zack and the other SOLDIERS in Final Fantasy VII were injected with her cells. As the creator of the Cetra (in this story) and the last of the Cetra in Final Fantasy VII, I thought it was only fitting for Aerith to battle Jenova in the distant past of this story, resulting in the creation of Zack and his people.

Lucil and Elma are from the Chocobo Knights in Final Fantasy X and the plain of Mi'ihen is a reference to Operation Mi'ihen, the ill-fated attempt of several parties to destroy Sin, which resulted in most of the Chocobo Knights being wiped out. The Al Bhed are also from Final Fantasy X, and while I'd planned on including Rikku, the chapter was already enormously long, and I thought the universe might implode if Vanille, Rikku and Yuffie ever gathered in the same place at the same time.

Last, but not least, Squall and Rinoa are from Balamb Garden in Final Fantasy VIII. The description of their clan as being fairly mercenary is a reference to their occupation as SeeDs.

Whew.

As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


	14. The Heavens Asunder

**The Heavens Asunder**

In the sky over Oerba, Caius watched Fang fall. For a moment, only one, he allowed himself to feel regret. Fang was one of the few gods he could respect. She had watched over her people wisely and well, and she had loved them dearly also. But he could not spare her this though he could admire her strength. Even weakened, the High Father was monstrously powerful. To have saved Oerba, albeit at the cost of the eastern wall, was no small feat. He was not sure if he could have done the same.

The air beside him stirred, and the High Father appeared. He was an old man again, but Caius could see the madness swirling behind his eyes. How had so many of the gods missed it for so long? Chaos crawled through the High Father's soul, but where it would have been beautiful in a mortal, it could only ever be ugly and foul inside a god. The High Father was a fool, much like the High Mother. But Caius needed him, just like he needed Caius.

"You have grown weaker," Caius said. "More than I had expected."

For a heartbeat, the High Father looked frail, his weathered features tight and strained. "Hold your tongue, boy. I have slept long, and, yes, the years have weakened me. But I grow stronger with each moment. Once Cocoon worships me again, I will be as I was." His lips curled, and he looked down at the city beneath them. "The Fang of the Heavens has grown stronger. I did not expect her to survive. Kill her, Caius, and lay waste the city. The sight of it displeases me."

Caius did not bother to face the High Father as he gave his reply. "No."

"Are you defying me?" Reality rippled as the High Fathered gathered his might again. Even weakened, his power dwarfed Caius's as a forest fire dwarfed a candle.

"Your slumber has made your restless. You were wiser in the Old Days." Caius gestured at the Cocoon army camped below. "Let Cocoon's army have its hope. Let them pour into Oerba. The clans draw close, and their hearts are filled with wrath. If Cocoon wins the coming battle, if we strike down their enemies, they may worship us for a time. But the hearts of mortals can be fickle. What will happen when they have no more enemies? What need will they have for us then?"

Understanding dawned, and the madness behind the High Father's eyes receded. He laughed, and it was an ugly sound. "You mean to let them fail. I did not think you so ruthless. Yet perhaps I should not be surprised. After all, you have chosen to stand with me, knowing full well what I intend."

"The years have changed me, as they have changed all of us. But when Cocoon's armies lie broken and their cities stand exposed, they shall know fear. They shall know panic. And then they will turn to you, High Father. They shall turn to you for salvation because there is no one else. They prayed to you, and you gave them the walls of Oerba. Think of how ardent their prayers shall be when they pray not for victory but survival. If you save them then, they shall never be parted from you. They shall be yours forever. Then, and only then, shall you have the strength to restore Cocoon."

The High Father's gaze fell upon Caius with all the weight of a mountain. Oblivion shone in his eyes, vast and endless. "You see far, Caius, and well. Perhaps too far and too well." He faded, vanishing into the night. "I see your heart, Caius. You have no love for me, no loyalty. Yet I know what you seek. Do not betray me, or you shall never have it. I leave this matter to you. Do not disappoint me."

Caius said nothing. He saw far, farther than even the High Mother had. He knew the treachery that awaited him at the High Father's hands, but he would be ready for it. Fang had been wounded. She would play no further part for the time being. But when he needed her, she would help him. She would not have a choice. Below him, the army of Cocoon advanced as a lone dragon raced through the sky toward the breach in the walls.

And in the distance, he heard the rumble of a gathering storm. Aerith had stirred, and Lightning was with her. Her choice had decided everything before, and it would do so again. But he would leave her with only one choice, a choice he had already made. He closed his eyes, felt the tides of fate ebb and flow against him, and then he too was gone. He had something even more important to attend to.

X X X

Caius spent the rest of the night speaking to the leaders of Paddra. They were mortals, but they were competent and their loyalty was absolute. They would die for him without a second though, and more importantly they would do the same for Yeul.

Paddra was only a legend to the outside world, the Hidden City some called it. It was a place of his creation, for in the last war, the war that had brought down Cocoon, the original Paddra had been completely destroyed. Its people were left homeless and broken, leaderless and despised. He had taken them in, sheltered them, and then used his divine powers to carve out a new city.

It had nothing to do with charity. The city and its people served him and his ends. His powers shielded the city from the prying eyes of mortal and even other gods. He had turned the city and the valley where it was hidden into a place of prosperity and beauty, a place fitting for his beloved. And each time Yeul was reborn, he brought her here, to the palace of Paddra, where she could live her days in comfort and safety, protected from all that would do her harm. No one questioned her position. He had burned her importance, her right to rule, into the very souls of Paddra's people.

Finally, after a night spent discussing matters of state – mortals had so many needs to attend to – he was free to indulge himself. The guards stationed near Yeul's quarters snapped to attention at his approach. He examined them keenly. They were expert swordsmen, the finest warriors in all of Paddra, and each had been raised to attend to this duty with fanatical devotion. He favoured them with a curt nod as he passed, and they straightened in appreciation. His nature was well known, and such a nod was equivalent to words of high praise. They would walk proudly for days and speak of it with their fellows.

Beyond the guards was the lush garden that surrounded Yeul's luxurious quarters. She had always loved flowers, and so he had made sure to bring only the most beautiful to her garden. He used his powers to ensure they never wilted and were always in full bloom. It was a petty thing, perhaps, but he cared more for her than for the censure he would have received from gods long dead. Some part of him knew and understood that he was obsessed, but all gods were obsessed with something. And she loved him. Despite everything he was, she loved him as much as he loved her. His precious Yeul was the only thing he considered beautiful in a life filled with so much ugliness.

His approach was marked by several of Yeul's handmaidens – each was trained in combat lest some enemy slip past her guards – and he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. They bowed and slipped away without a word. His time with Yeul was too precious to share with anyone else. As the last of them left, she showed him the breakfast they had prepared.

Few gods would ever lower themselves to serve a mortal a meal – Lightning had done so for her sister, and Fang often shared meals with her chosen – but Caius had no qualms serving his beloved. He took the tray of food and carried it into Yeul's bedroom, mindful of the tiger that trailed in his wake. It was a present for Yeul and yet another protector should the need arise. The beast followed him to Yeul's door and then went off to sleep in the garden. Yeul had seen a picture of a tiger once and delighted in it, so Caius had brought her a cub to raise as her own.

Yeul was asleep on her bed, curled up to one of her pillows. She was adorable like this, hair askew and mouth slightly open. She was only a youth still, a mere sixteen, but she had already begun to show much of the beauty she would one day possess. Caius allowed himself a moment, and then another, to admire her before he set the tray of food on a nearby table and sat on the edge of the bed.

Gently, he cupped her cheek in one hand. "Yeul, it is morning. I have breakfast."

She awoke at once. Seeing him, she jerked back, face flushed as she tugged her blankets up to her neck. "Caius!" she cried before she swatted him with one hand like an unruly child. "I have told you before! Do not do that!"

He chuckled. It was amusing to see her so exasperated. As of late, she'd become exceedingly modest, but she was hardly naked. She always slept in a nightgown, though somehow it did more to hint at the womanly figure she had recently gained than it did to conceal it. However, she had always been a modest creature – it had been so in every life she had lived. Only later, once they had become lovers, would she allow him to take liberties with her, for their passion had always burned hot once it had awakened.

But she was still so very young, and she had reached that awkward stage when she both craved his attention yet seemed uncertain of what she would do once she received it. Had she been any other mortal girl, she might have dallied with a young man, stealing kisses behind a barn or some such. But he was hers, and whatever kisses she stole would be from his lips. He smiled. There would be no need for stolen kisses. When she was ready, he would teach her everything she wanted to know.

Yet now, with her scowling most firmly at him, he had no choice but to turn away as she dressed herself. She was not truly angry with him, merely startled, but he was happy to let her think she had won a battle or two. He would, after all, win the war. In the meantime, he busied himself with her breakfast.

"From the look upon your face, I take it you are displeased to see me."

"Of course not!" Yeul huffed, and he could all but see the frown upon her face. "I am always happy to see you, Caius, you know that. But… you are late."

He did not need to turn to know that she was pouting. It was a habit of hers, one that seemed specific to this lifetime. He found it intriguing and delightful. Perhaps when she was ready, he could deal with that jutting lower lip in the way his heart demanded – with his own lips. "My apologies for missing dinner. I had other duties to see to, but they are done now. If you like, I can spend the whole day with you."

Fully dressed now, she threw her arms about him from behind. "Truly?"

Her face rested upon his shoulder. All he need do was turn his head and they would kiss. Yet he did not. She was not ready for that, though the warmth of her body burned him each time they touched. He was lost, had been lost for so long, and only with Yeul did he feel found. "Yes, truly." He eased out of her embrace and offered her breakfast. "See here, I even made you a meal."

Even as she reached for the food, the look she gave him was sceptical. "You did not make this, Caius. I know you very well. God or not, you cannot cook."

He inclined his head. She was right, of course. For all his talents – divinely given or won through hard practice – cooking was not one of them. On Cocoon, he had always had others to serve him, and in Paddra, there was a veritable army of servants on hand. "As always, you see through my clever schemes."

"It was hardly clever." She grinned. "Though I appreciate the effort."

She ate with relish, and at her insistence he ate as well though he was mindful not to eat too much. She was mortal and needed nourishment. He was a god, and food was not something he required. Indeed, he found it far more enjoyable to watch her savour each dish, especially when she stumbled over her descriptions of how each one tasted. She had a thirst for knowledge, but at times, the proper words eluded her. It was an endearing trait, and another that seemed unique to this lifetime. He supposed it was because of how late he had been to find her. She had been six years old and living in some pathetic backwater when he'd finally found her. He was only glad that she could scarcely remember the squalid, little house with its cracked, mouldy walls and mangy dogs. So long as he lived, he would never let her experience such hardship again.

When she was done, she shooed him from her quarters as her handmaidens came to help her bathe and dress for the day. Caius contented himself with wandering the garden, the tiger slinking after him. He appreciated the beast's form: sleek, deadly, and proud. Yeul was his one indulgence, the sole arena where he let his heart over rule his head. Not even the High Father knew where Paddra was. In time, he would grow strong enough to force that information from Caius, but Caius had plans for when that moment came.

When she emerged from her chambers. Yeul wore a long, white dress. The intricate but light crown she wore upon her head glittered in the sun. A thin cloak was wrapped about her, lest the wind give her a chill. She tried to sneak up on him, and he let her think she had as she wrapped her arms around him.

"You are thinking very hard again."

"I do so quite frequently." Caius offered his arm, and she took it happily. Only a few had ever had the audacity to touch him outside of combat, and there were fewer still whose touch he craved. She was one. "What do you wish to do today?"

"There is a market, and I am told there are food stalls with all the most delightful things. May we go?"

"If that is your wish."

As they walked, she spoke swiftly and eagerly of all the things she had done in his absence. She took to her lessons quickly and excelled in all of her studies. The thought of taking on a larger role in the governance of Paddra thrilled her. And why not? She was Yeul, Voice of the High Mother, and the most exalted of all the High Mother's prophets and priestesses. Yet, as always, her talk to turned to other, less pleasant things.

"Must I always stay here, Caius? I know you leave Paddra. I wish to see the world. Bring me with you. Show me everything."

It was hard to deny her even a single thing, but he would always deny her this.

"The world outside of Paddra is a cruel and dangerous place. Its people are ruthless and cunning, and the fate they must endure is even worse." His voice softened at the hurt she showed, and he reached down to lift her chin. "I promise you, I do not keep you here on a whim. I wish only for what is best for you."

"I know that." Yeul's voice grew small, and something within him clenched.

"But I promise that once my work is done, you shall come with me. I am working to make the world a better place. In time, you shall be able to go anywhere you wish, even far away from me, if that is what you desire." Indeed, she likely would desire that once she learned what he had done.

Yeul only laughed and hugged his arm. "Why would I ever want to leave you? When I can travel, you must take me everywhere. Perhaps you will be less gloomy then. How about the sea, Caius? I have never seen the sea!"

"Perhaps, and the sea is very beautiful." The thought of Yeul staying at his side, of a life beyond the war to come, was almost too much to bear. But the next words of his reply died on his lips, for Yeul's eyes had glazed and chaos swirled behind them. A voice that was not hers came from her mouth, the shadow of a slumbering god. The High Mother's gift still lingered, and now and then her will revealed itself.

"Be mindful of the past, Caius." Yeul's eyes burned into his, and her voice seemed to come from every direction at once. "It often finds its way into the future. There are some things that must not be changed, some prices that are too heavy to pay. Not even the gods can conquer fate. Not even you can sway the chaos and control destiny."

His fists clenched, and he could not stop the words spilling out of him, words meant for the High Mother. "You are a fool. What would you know? You never even tried."

"Do you think the High Father and I were the first? Foolish little god, mightier forces than we forged creation. You set yourself against them, and you are destined to fail. The fate of man has been decided, and the course of the divine has been wrought in stone since the first day of creation."

"Save your platitudes. What allegiance do I owe a slumbering god and another, perhaps greater, who has forsaken all of creation? You and the High Father were mighty once, but your arrogance and pride led to your ruin. I shall not make the same mistake. And you dare speak of the price? I am more than willing to pay it."

"Lightning stood once where you stand now. Tell me, Caius. What did she decide?"

"Be silent." Caius had to fight from seizing Yeul in his hands and shaking her. This was not her doing. "Go back to the darkness and your slumber. This world has no need of you." His gaze darkened, and his voice took on a fell tone. "I shall change everything. The greatest of gods lies dead and their power is there for the taking. I shall remake this world as I see fit."

"Then you shall fall."

And then Yeul was herself again.

Yeul's eyes widened at the wrath upon his face. "Caius, did I say something strange again?" That was how she referred to the moments when the High Mother spoke through her. What an innocent way of putting it. He strove to soften his expression, and she shivered and clutched her cloak tighter about herself. "I dreamt of something… something I've dreamt of before. It was a crystal star shining in the sky where you once lived. I dreamt that you came to see me many times. Sometimes I was old, and sometimes I was young, but you were always the same. So many times you wept… always for me."

Caius swallowed thickly. "Those were only dreams, beloved, or perhaps nightmares. I am here with you now, and I do not weep. Come. Let us go to the market. If we dally, perhaps we shall find ourselves left hungry."

She laughed. "Caius! Do not say such things. What will you do if there really is nothing left? We shall starve, and it will all be your fault."

X X X

Upon the ruins of Oerba's eastern wall, the city's defenders fought a desperate battle. Heedless of the darkness, men and women rushed to plug the gap with blades and bodies. Cocoon's soldiers surged forward, and the night was filled with the clamour of steel and fury. But if they had expected to see the morale of Oerba broken, they were sorely mistaken. For the warriors of Oerba no longer fought simply to protect their city – they fought to protect their goddess as well.

"Take her to the temple!" The cry came from Braska, High Priest of Oerba. The mere thought of actually laying hands upon a goddess horrified him, but they could not leave her here. "Quickly, we will cover your retreat!"

A chorus of cries went up from the warriors around him. They had seen their goddess fall in their defence, and they had come swiftly to aid her as best they could. Fear would come, he was certain of it, but for now their fury was stronger than their fear.

"Into your positions!" he bellowed. "Let no enemy lay their hands upon our goddess!"

As another wave of Cocoon soldiers pressed into the gap, Braska led the charge to drive them back. His ornate staff flashed in the moonlight, a standard around which to rally. Then came the fighting, and it was horrible fighting. They fought on top of the rubble and cracked rock, amidst scorched stone and melted brick. Men swung wildly at one another, barely able to see as a cloud covered the moon. When swords or spears failed, rocks and bits of rubble were seized and brought to bear. Soon, the gold of Braska's staff was stained a deep and terrible red.

"Push!" Braska shouted as he crested another pile of rubble. "Tear this down!"

Arrows hurtled through the air. One struck the man beside him, and a second arrow dug into his shoulder. He tripped but found his feet again, and then he braced his shoulder against one of the slabs of battered stone that sat stop the pile of rubble. A dozen warriors joined him, heaving and straining, until at last the slab slid free and rumbled down the hill. It kicked up a cloud of dust and crushed everything in its path.

"Have faith!" Braska held his staff high to let the warriors around him know that he still remained upon the field of battle. "The goddess protected us! Now, we must protect her!"

He had seen the horror in the sky – a titan wrought of metal with a thousand screaming faces – they all had. And they all knew who it was. The High Father had come and set his strength against them. But their goddess had withstood his fury, and while a wall had been lost, the city still remained. The High Father had withdrawn, so there was still hope. Besides, what else could they do but fight? Cocoon would give no quarter.

And then, from the sky, came fire. It was small at first, but it grew larger, and Braska knew then that the goddess had not abandoned them. A dragon had come, small perhaps, but atop its back, their features lit by the flames, were two young women, one with red hair and the other with silver hair. He had heard from the leader of the Yun – the one with red hair was their goddess's chosen, a young Dia from Oerba. Their allies could not be far.

"Hold!" Braska despised killing. But for his family and his city and his goddess, he would kill as many as he had to. "Hold until morning!"

Further back, carried on a wooden bier that jolted with every step as a pair of her priests took her back to the temple, the goddess Fang slept and remembered the Old Days.

X X X

The death of Averia had broken something in Lightning. Fang knew that as surely as she knew her own name. Yet the breaking did not happen in the fashion so many were accustomed to. No tears were shed once Averia's funeral pyre had dwindled to ash and embers. No words of hate or sorrow or rage tainted the air. There was only a wretched silence and a sense of purpose so keen that it frightened Fang.

Lightning had decided upon something, but Fang could not be sure of what it was. Nor would Lightning speak of her decision. Instead, the other goddess dwelt in solitude upon the Thunder Plains. Several times, Fang visited, but no word or touch could crack the ice around Lightning's heart. The most heartfelt of pleas was met only with formality and politeness so artificial that Fang would have rather be struck than greeted in such a fashion. The passion that had burned in Lightning for so long – the regal flame that set apart her soul from all the other gods – had burnt down to nothing. In its place, there was only grief and wrath.

As if to give voice to their creator's suffering, the storms upon the Thunder Plains grew ever more vicious with each passing year. No mortal dared walk beneath the sea of black clouds, and no god dared disturb the shattered Sword of the Heavens. Even the wind, whispering of Fang's sympathy, could not reach Lightning.

Gods were not mortals, yet their hearts were not so different. Some gods fell prey to their desires, drowning themselves in the pleasures of the flesh and other such delights. Others gave way to grief, fading from the world as shadows before the dawn. But others burned, and sometimes they burned so hot inside that when the fire was gone, there was nothing left behind.

Lightning returned to her duty. Indeed, she performed it even better than before. Those who broke the laws of Cocoon were punished without hesitation or mercy until her name was almost a curse on the lips of errant gods. No lawbreaker ever escaped her justice, and no plea ever stayed her sword. But what frightened Fang the most was the emptiness she saw inside Lightning. There was none of the regret she had seen before when Lightning had consigned other gods to oblivion. Nor did the other goddess bother to conceal the nature of her duty any longer. Instead, she strode uncaring through the halls of Cocoon, her armour and blade stained with divine blood. The High Mother was well pleased – her greatest servant had returned to her duties – but Fang knew better than to take joy in Lightning's dedication. She had seen this once before and it had broken her heart then. Lightning had returned to her duty because she had nothing else.

Her fears were confirmed when the High Mother called Lightning before her. The Blade of the High Mother had slain – nay, slaughtered – half a dozen rebellious gods, executing them with a cold brutality that had sent shockwaves through Cocoon. None would dare question the laws of Cocoon now.

"You have done your duty, my daughter, and you have done it well." The High Mother held court in her palace, and beside the finery the other gods wore, the bloodied armour of Lightning was a sight to behold. "I know you have grieved, and you are right to grieve. Your loss has been great. But let me now reward you. Only ask it of me, and I shall grant you a boon."

Lightning stood, for she had knelt as custom demanded. Then her eyes swept over the other gods. For a moment, Fang met Lightning's gaze. Those blue eyes of which Fang had always been so fond were twin oceans of cold fire. A storm crackled in those eyes, but just as quickly it was gone. No, not gone. Restrained. Fang remembered then the words a master sword smith had once spoken to her:

A sword once broken can be reforged, but it will never be the same again.

"A boon, High Mother?" Lightning's voice was soft, yet to Fang, the threat was clear in it.

But the High Mother merely smiled. "Yes, a boon."

"There are many things I could ask for." Lightning's hand fell to the sword at her side, and her grip was so tight upon it that her fingers grew white. "And indeed, there are many things you could give me. But the one thing in all this world that I desire is not something you can give me – or perhaps it is something you will not give me."

The High Mother flinched as though struck, and a low murmur rustled through the other gods. Fang shivered as the High Mother's power unfurled. The words had not been spoken loudly, yet that had only added to the insult. "You do me a disservice, daughter."

"If I have done so, it is not out of malice. Instead, I speak merely the truth. What I want, no god can give me, not even you, High Mother, most exalted of us all. Thus I shall ask no boon of you. Let me return to my duty, for it is all that is left to me." And with those words, cutting in their truth, Lightning departed.

But while the other gods remained with the High Mother, Fang sought out Lightning. She caught the other goddess by the arm, but the crackle of electricity forced her back. The sword that had slain so many errant gods had been drawn.

"I did not give you leave to touch me, Fang of the Heavens."

And though that was Fang's full name and title, it stung her more deeply than any insult to hear them pass from Lightning's lips with so little warmth.

"What has happened to you?" And because Fang loved Lightning and would not see her suffer as she had before, she put one hand upon Lightning's and pressed her blade back into its sheath. They would talk, and Fang would offer what meagre comfort she could.

"You know what has happened. I have lost the only thing I treasured, my one reward for centuries of toil. If your Yun had been put to fire and sword, how would you feel?"

Fang shook. This was her doing, if only by mistake. Lightning had not truly loved until she had known Serah, but then, she had not truly lost until then either. "Your words to the High Mother were spoken truly – of that I have no doubt – yet you crafted them to hurt and that is not like you."

For the first time, emotion filled Lightning's voice, and it was wrath. "It is right that she should suffer at least a little, for we have all suffered while she sits upon a gilded throne aloof from a world of suffering and pain. The mortals pray to us for relief, and we draw strength from them. Yet where is their relief? Where is the succour we have promised them?"

"They may pray to us, but in the end they decide their own fate. It has always been so."

"Then perhaps it has always been wrong." Lightning made to brush past Fang, but again Fang caught her by the arm. "I have spoken to the High Father, Fang. He does not feel as you do, as the High Mother does. He shall make the world better."

"Then he has lied to you. There are things that cannot be changed. The tide of fate and destiny is too strong for even the gods to push back. A mortal might as well try to hold back the sea. And even if he can do it, what shall be the cost, Lightning?"

"I am willing to pay the cost."

Lightning lifted her hand, but Fang knew they could not part like this. Somehow, the High Father had come upon Lightning in her moment of weakness and poisoned her against the High Mother. She pulled Lightning's hand down and seized Lightning by the shoulder.

"Lightning –"

"Choose, Fang. A reckoning is coming, and I tell you this only because you were once dear to me and may be still. Shall you stand in defence of idle gods unworthy of their glory, or shall you help raise up those mortals worthy of a place amongst the gods?"

"If those are the only choices that you give me…"

"Then you have already chosen." Lightning pushed Fang away, and though only two feet stood between them, Fang could not bring herself to close the distance.

Then Lightning was gone. But her words lingered for a long time afterward in Fang's mind. Lightning had chosen, and it was a dire choice. Two weeks later, the High Mother summoned Fang to her chambers. She arrived to find the greatest of goddesses in the midst of a rage, and she was torn between marvelling at it – she had never seen the High Mother so furious – and dreading news of its cause.

"Have you heard?" the High Mother spat. Her fury shook Cocoon to its foundations, and the lesser gods amongst them sought refuge outside the hall. Only Fang and Lightning stood firm. The latter's mouth was set into a thin line, and her eyes gleamed with all the hardness of a diamond. "The High Father means to bring mortals to Cocoon."

Fang recalled Lightning's words, and a chill ran through her soul. She should speak now and tell the High Mother what Lightning had said, yet she could not bring herself to wound Lightning yet again. "For what purpose?" she said at last.

"He believes that the most deserving of mortals should be rewarded." The High Mother sank onto her throne, and the air about her bent and twisted. From the shadows another god emerged: Caius, a great god in his own right and the favoured son of the High Mother. "It is a fine idea, I suppose, but Cocoon is the home of the gods. I have spoken to him, but he will not be swayed. Cocoon was not meant for mortals, however noble they might be."

"He means to force the issue?" Fang asked.

"He has that right. He is the High Father, and we rule Cocoon together. Half of it is mine, and half of it is his. It has always been so. Yet gods and mortals were not meant to mix." Here, her gaze found Lightning. "For such mixing can only lead to sorrow. Perhaps the High Father grows weary. Perhaps he has spent too much time wandering amongst the mortals. Maybe he seeks a way to pass the endless years."

"Then maybe we can dissuade him." Caius stepped out into the open. "Or maybe you can tolerate his mortals for a while until he grows tired of them."

"No." The High Mother banged one hand upon her throne. "Cocoon is the home of the gods. I have thought of quarrelling with him, but not over a matter like this."

Fang had never seen the High Mother and High Father quarrel. If such a quarrel came to blows, it might tear Cocoon from the sky and lay waste all of Gran Pulse.

"A vote," Lightning spoke at last. "It is written in the laws that although you, High Mother, and the High Father stand above all others, in matters where you cannot reach agreement, a vote may be called amongst the other gods."

"A vote? Yes. Yes, the High Father has spent too much of his time wandering the mortal world. He has forgotten Cocoon and the gods upon it. I shall win the vote, I think." The High Mother's eyes sharpened upon Lightning, for she remembered well the insult Lightning had given her. "And how will you vote, my daughter?"

"I will vote as my duty demands."

"Then you will vote for me. Fang, what think you of this idea?"

"It is a poor one." Fang did not wish to betray Lightning's confidence, yet she could not stand idly by either. "Perhaps you could convince the High Father to make a new realm for the worthy."

But despite her efforts, the High Mother would not be swayed. And each time she thought to tell the High Mother of what Lightning had said to her, Fang saw again the hurt in Lightning's eyes, the sorrow, and the words turned to ashes in her mouth. Surely, it could not go so poorly. Even with Lightning's vote, the High Father spent too little time upon Cocoon to hold more sway over the other gods than the High Mother.

Still, if the High Father had reached Lightning's heart, he might have reached others. Fang waited for Lightning and Caius to leave before she revealed her suspicions. She would not speak of Lightning's exact words, but she could at least speak of her intentions.

"Lightning will not vote for you."

"Nonsense." The High Mother shook her head. "She is angry with me, but I created her. I know best what lies within her heart. I crafted her for duty, and it is duty still that drives her, that defines her. And here, her duty is clear. She was created to serve me, to enforce the laws of Cocoon, and to defend Cocoon against any threat. She will vote in my favour."

Fang thought hard upon those words. It was true. Each of the gods – save the High Mother and High Father – had been created for a purpose, and to go against that purpose was no small thing. Fang had been created aeons ago to watch over the wild places of the world and the clans of Gran Pulse. She was also sworn to defend the High Mother from her enemies. Even now, despite the poor treatment that Lightning had endured, it was difficult for her to dislike the High Mother, so deeply ingrained was her purpose. Lightning had likewise been crafted to fulfil a purpose, but that purpose was not as simple as the High Mother believed.

"So you say, High Mother, and you are wise. But a god can overcome their purpose if their will is strong enough. Did not Jenova abandon her post and rise against you?" Fang shook her head. "But there is more. The laws of Cocoon can be changed and there may come a time when you are seen as a threat to Cocoon. What shall happen then when two purposes run contrary to one?"

The High Mother stirred again, her eyes narrowed in wrath. Yet Fang held firm in the face of the High Mother's fury. "You have always loved me and been loyal, so I give your words great weight. But Lightning will not betray me. She cannot."

"I hope you are right." Fang bowed her head. In Lightning's eyes perhaps, the High Mother had betrayed her first. Certainly, the High Father would say so. "For if she speaks against you, others shall mark it and follow her lead."

Then Fang went from the High Mother and returned to her mountain. There, she sought comfort amongst the Yun and the dragons, but her unease would not pass. She had heard whispers of doom when Serah chose a mortal path, and she heard them again as the vote drew near.

On the day of the vote, Cocoon was filled with gods and goddesses. Not every god could vote – only those of sufficiently high station. They gathered in a vast hall that stood halfway between the palaces of the High Mother and High Father. Then they spoke, the High Mother first and the High Father second.

"It is true," the High Mother said. "That there are mortals worthy of great things. They have conquered the limitations of their nature and achieved fine deeds. Yet they are mortals still, and the laws of Cocoon are clear. Cocoon is the home of the gods, and there is no room upon it for mortals. Such laws may seem harsh, but they exist for a reason. Gods do not age as mortals do. Any mortal here would be forced to wither and die as all the gods around them remain unchanged. And should any god grow to hold a mortal dear, then only sorrow awaits them. For the years of a mortal life are as chaff in the wind whereas the gods are mountains standing firm. There is talk, I have heard, of fate and destiny. These are more than words – they are laws carved into the fabric of creation. Such things are beyond even the gods, and to meddle with them is not wise. It is the destiny of gods to walk one path and mortals another. Let us not interfere with it now."

Fang felt some relief, for the High Mother had spoken truthfully and with force. Yet as the High Father stood to take his turn, the whispers of doom on the wind grew louder.

At first, the High Father said nothing. Instead, he walked in a slow circuit along the edge of the speaking area, his eyes wandering over the gods that had assembled. Only when he had met and held each of their gazes did he speak. His voice held none of the austere, impossible beauty of the High Mother's, but the words were crafted with a skill surpassing hers, and the roughness, the almost mortal timbre, lent added gravity to his message. The High Mother's strength and power had guaranteed obedience, but the High Father had learned from mortals the value of fine speech and cunning. His wisdom echoed in every word, and the weight of his long years filled the hall.

"We are gods," he began. "And we are blessed with many things. Save for the very cruellest of circumstances, neither age nor death can hinder us. Yet how many amongst us treasure this gift and honour it as it should be honoured? I know – and you know – of many who do not deserve the gift of the divine or the paradise of Cocoon. They are fools of the worst sort, squandering what so many worthy mortals would give anything to possess. Is there justice in that? Is it fair that the accident of their birth – and none of us can choose how we are born – dooms them as surely as it blesses others less deserving? We pride ourselves on our justice and our wisdom. Surely, the answer is: no, there is no justice in that and it is not fair.

"You have all seen the mortal world. You are, after all, the greatest of our number, wise and powerful, experienced and just. There is not a one among you who has not known the depths of mortal depravity. But likewise, there is not one among you who has not seen the glory that mortals can achieve: their ingenuity, their kindness, their honour, and their valour. Yes, they are weak. Yes, they are fragile. But they are remarkable despite that – because of that." And here, the High Father's gaze pinned each and every one of them as though daring them to disagree. "I do not ask any of you to give up what is yours. I ask only that you share what we have with those who have earned it, who deserve it.

"What I ask is simple. Give the mortals something to aspire to. Give them something to believe in. We have promised them paradise. We have descended clothed in fire and glory with whispers of heaven on our lips. But it is a heaven we can never know, for where the souls of mortals go the gods cannot follow. So our promise is an empty one. Yet there is a heaven here that we do know, a paradise we can offer them. Why not give them respite, if only for a while, from the endless cycle of death and rebirth.

"True, we cannot stop their passing, but we might ease their passage. I would have this boon granted to only the greatest amongst them, those truly worthy of our esteem. Let them live out the dwindling of their days upon Cocoon. Let them pass in comfort and joy with those who can truly appreciate their achievements. Let the vagaries of the mortal world trouble them no longer. It will give the mortals something to dream of, and it will remind them that we gods have not forgotten them."

The hall was still as the High Father's last words echoed through the air. Then the vote was called. Fang knew right away how some of them would vote, but of others she was less certain. Back and forth the vote swung, first favouring the High Mother and then favouring the High Father. At last, it was tie, but there was still one vote left to cast. The vote belonged to Lightning, and even as the High Mother's eyes gleamed with triumph, Fang knew that she had lost.

All around the hall, the other gods cried out for Lightning's vote. She seemed weary, so weary, and she let slip the tight rein she held over her heart. Anger and pain warred in her gaze. Then she took her sword and knelt before the High Father.

"You have my vote and my sword. Let the laws of Cocoon be rewritten, and let the tide of fate be thrown back."

At her words, the High Mother let loose a cry of fury that shook the hall to its foundations. Despite Fang's warning, the betrayal has still caught her unawares. She would have struck Lightning, but the High Father's power rose to match hers. The old man faded, and a thousand faces cast in glittering metal shimmered in the air behind him like the hot air over the desert.

"The vote is cast, and the victory is mine." For the first time that day, the High Father's voice was hard. "Let the laws be changed, and let none oppose that change." He lifted Lightning to her feet and put one arm about her shoulders. "You serve one now who appreciates your deeds. You shall not go unrewarded."

The High Mother left before her wrath could overtake her again, and Fang followed to try and calm her. In truth, Fang still could not believe that Lightning had cast her lot with the High Father. Reason might have warned her of the outcome, but her heart could not accept it. The High Mother's rage was terrible to behold. The walls of her palace cracked, and the skies over Cocoon grew dark until the only light came from the flash of lightning. Only when it seemed as though Cocoon itself would break beneath her fury did the High Mother slump upon her throne, tired and weary for the first time that Fang could remember.

Anger cooling, she turned to Fang. "I have lost so much more than a mere vote. The mortals I can bear, but the loss of my sword is an evil thing. You foresaw this. Tell me, Fang of the Heavens, could I have stopped this?"

Fang thought hard. The High Mother was not often given to seeking advice, so her words now were important. "We are all at fault. She has loved too much, and you have loved too little. And I, I have done both, for I have loved you too much and her too little. Oh, I have tried to love wisely, but love is not wise, nor can wisdom sway the heart when grief or fury is upon it. Remember, it was I who begged you to give her Serah."

"Serah…" The High Mother eyes grew distant, her mind drawn back to the days of Serah's birth and death. "I remember the words you spoke then. A sword without a sheath can be turned against its master. The sheath was lost and now, at last, the sword has turned against me."

"Yes, it would seem so. Lightning has never treasured titles or fine things. But in Serah, she found one who loved her for whom she was and not for her purpose, nor her skills and power. If Lightning had been penniless and poor, a mortal without a coin to her name, still Serah would have loved her." It was a powerful feeling, Fang thought, and one she had never known. Or perhaps she had, but she could never give voice to it now. "When she lost Serah, something inside Lightning was broken. And a sword once broken can be reforged, but it will never be the same again."

"The High Father knew of this weakness." The words were a hiss.

"Yes. We have underestimated him. He understood her best of all, and it was love he used against her: her love for Serah and her love for you. For she loved you, High Mother, more than anything, save Serah. Yet what did her love win her? More duty. More pain. She has made a foolish choice now – and I pray it has not doomed us – but she did not make it without reason."

"This wisdom comes too late." The High Mother grew quiet. "Go. I must think."

And so Fang went. But as she left, she met Caius.

"I pity you," he said.

Fang stiffened. He had voted from the High Mother, but his hesitation had been plain to her. The High Mother had charged him with the care of a priestess, Yeul, and the sorrow of her fate weighed heavily upon him. At his words, the air stirred, and the seconds grew longer until each moment lasted the lifetime of a man. But his expression did not waver. She would not attack him without cause, and he was skilled in skirting the very edges of her patience.

"What do you mean?"

"You look at Lightning, and all you can see is her grief. You think it defines her. When I look upon her, I see her wrath. It makes her glorious." Caius laughed, and the sound was soft and bitter. "Have you forgotten, Fang of the Heavens, what so many called her in the years before Serah came? They called her the Wrath of the High Mother, and the name was well earned. And now wrath has returned to her, but it is her own and no other's."

Fang looked closely at Caius then, for the truth of his nature had been bared at last. What a fool she'd been to hide upon her mountain for so long. Cocoon might shine brightly in the sky, but there was such darkness upon it.

"She is right to feel wrath," Fang said. "But I hope that it shall pass with time. Serah might have gone, but there are others who love her still. Perhaps one day, her heart shall be opened to them, for not even the Sword of the Heavens can walk the endless paths of eternity alone."

In the years that followed, and they were long years, made longer by the simmering dislike amongst the gods that had chosen separate sides, the High Father carried out his plan. Estates were carved out upon Cocoon, fine dwellings built in the fashion of the gods, and he brought the finest of mortals from Gran Pulse to live in them.

It was hard for Fang to hate him then. These mortals were the greatest of their race, old perhaps, but regal still in the dwindling of their days. There were veteran warriors, scholars of great wisdom, and others who had been deemed worthy. But what threatened to sway Fang's heart was the change in Lightning's duties. The High Father had changed the laws of Cocoon, and to Lightning was given the task of herald, the god sent forth to summon the worthy to a life of paradise and plenty.

Lightning's mood grew gentle, and it seemed as though she had earned some measure of peace again. The lesser gods carried the mortals to and from Cocoon, but it was Lightning who sought them out and delivered the good news. Slowly, the sharpness faded from her features, and she came to speak first with Aerith and then, finally, to Fang as though the old slights had been forgiven.

"Can you see now what the High Father desired?" Lightning asked one day as she led them through the midst of all the mortal homes. All around them, the old folk, who had done much to deserve this blessing, walked the streets in wonder, their needs attended to by loyal spirits. There were smiles upon their faces, and the weight of their years seemed lighter. "They have earned this. Surely, you can see that."

And Fang could not disagree. Some of her Yun had been chosen, and though she loved the hardiness of her people, she loved also the sight of old heroes at rest, their weary bones spared the cruel cold of the mountains. And above all things, she loved the sight of Lightning's smile, fragile and tentative though it was. The other goddess walked often amongst the mortals, and Fang knew she was imagining what might have been if Serah or Averia had been afforded such comfort. And though the High Father's apparent kindness still did not sit right with her, Fang could not bring herself to take the smile from Lightning's face.

Lightning spoke again. "I once told Serah that lightning could only ever destroy. Yet now, I can do more. I can bring peace and hope, where once I could only bring pain and death. The dwindling of their years will not be as Serah's was. There will be no harsh summers here, no lean winters. And when the fires are lit, and their ashes are scattered to the winds, there will be no mourning, only joy at a life well lived and ended in dignity."

How could Fang object when the High Father's schemes had brought Lightning such happiness. Yet she saw her unease mirrored upon Aerith's face. Fang was no frequent visitor to Cocoon, but something about it had changed. Perhaps it was the High Father's power, for he had rarely shown it until recently. She spoke of her concerns to the High Mother, but her attention had been drawn elsewhere. The titan children of Pulse had stirred again, and with Lightning devoted to new duties, it fell to others to put them down.

Yet for the most part, Fang had only vague suspicions. And then the High Father began his pursuit of Aerith. The other goddess had come into the fullness of her power, and the High Father sought to sway her to his cause. To be sure, Aerith was flattered, but she was unsettled also. The High Father had never shown such interest in her before.

Fang and Aerith met in secret deep within her forest, a domain that no other god could enter without her knowledge.

"Why does he pursue you?" Fang asked.

"He speaks well," Aerith said. "And were I not already suspicious, he might have won me over already. He asks of my memories, of what I remember before I was found."

"But to what purpose?"

"You know what I am. I was not created by the High Mother and High Father as the other gods were. I was born of Pulse, and there are secrets in my blood that even I do not know."

"Pulse slumbers, Aerith, though his children might wake from time to time. The High Father has no need for your secrets – he has power enough."

"There you are wrong." Aerith paused, unsure. "Do you know of the Cetra?" Fang nodded. They were Aerith's children, created with her power. They were not men or gods, but something in between. "I felt something when I created them, something the High Father has sought for a very long time."

"What was it?" Fang leaned forward, drawn into the deepening green of Aerith's eyes.

"The chaos." Aerith hissed the words. "It is there – it has always been there. You cannot feel it, but I have known it all my life though I have only recently learned what it was. It lurks in the heart of every mortal. The High Mother crafted your soul in her image, but it was chaos that crafted the mortal soul, and it is chaos that sustains it. You know, as I do, that the High Mother and High Father did not create mortals. If they had, they could have restored Serah's godhood or conferred divinity upon their chosen. The chaos, Fang, is beyond them. It is something they can perceive but they cannot control it. It is the power that drives the cycle of life and death, the tide that drags all mortal souls through all the endless ages of the world."

"How can you know this for certain?" Fang was gifted in the arts of war, but Aerith had always looked elsewhere. The secret of creation – of life and death – that was her domain.

"I told you. I felt it. When I first created the Cetra, I looked to mortals and the gods for inspiration. They are my children, Fang, crafted of my power. But I could not give them souls, not as you and I have, nor could I them give souls as mortals have. They are children of the land, much like the titans we have faced. But in my search for a way to give them life, I came upon the chaos, if only for a moment. It is powerful, Fang, greater than even the High Mother and High Father. And amidst it, I saw something. A door."

A chill stole through Fang's heart. A dark memory had returned to her: a door standing at the centre of all of Creation, a door that was everywhere and nowhere at once. It was not her memory, but the High Mother's, an imprint left upon Fang's soul when the High Mother had created her. "That door… where does it lead?"

"I do not know. But ask yourself: who created the High Mother, the High Father, and Pulse? They are powerful, but they are not all powerful. Perhaps there is someone greater. That door… I cannot be certain, but I believe it leads somewhere, to a place where gods were never meant to go. Only mortals were meant for what lies beyond, for chaos flows within them and they cannot shape the world as we do. Serah became mortal by tearing out that part of her that was divine and plunging into the chaos. That is why her mortality cannot be undone – it was granted by a power that not even the High Mother may command."

"What you speak of is heresy." The laws of Cocoon were clear on this matter. The High Mother and High Father were supreme amongst the gods, the mightiest beings in all of Creation.

"Yet I speak truly. I would not lie to you."

Fang was glad they were hidden in Aerith's domain. "If you know of this door, then I am certain the High Mother knows of it also. She must be warned if the High Father seeks to reach it. Whatever power it might hold, I would not trust it in his hand – not when he has hidden his true purpose from us, and from Lightning most of all." Perhaps Lightning would despise her for this, but she would gladly bear Lightning's hatred if it meant the other goddess would not be used poorly once again.

"Be careful then. This secret was kept for a reason. If the High Mother has not already told you this, then she does not wish for you to know."

Fang nodded, but then she startled. The High Mother was calling for her, and it was a desperate call indeed. "Aerith, stay here."

And then Fang was soaring back to Cocoon as swiftly as the winds could carry her. She arrived in a whirlwind, tossing aside rubble and debris. Her heart froze. The High Mother's palace lay in ruins, and her retinue of lesser goddesses lay slain.

"What is going on here?" The ground beneath her shook, and a titanic explosion cracked the pinnacle of the sky. The clouds dissolved in flame. Scores of her lesser kin fell to lie broken and dead upon the streets. Around her, the ornate buildings and thoroughfares of Cocoon shattered, a wave of silent force sweeping past like a hurricane. As she reeled, more gods appeared, and drawing their weapons, they darted forward.

"Stay your hand!" she barked. But the other god would not stop, and she was forced to call upon her spear. She drove the weapon into his gut and hurled him aside. Another attacked from behind, and there was a great roar as the space around him bent and twisted and a thousand years passed in the blink of an eye. He fell.

"Caius!" Fang cried.

The other god limped, his face streaked with soot and blood. In one arm, he held his priestess, and beside him, refusing to accept aid she clearly needed, was the High Mother. Her robes were torn, and the aura of blinding light about her had dimmed. To her horror, Fang realised the High Mother was bleeding. Nothing could wound the High Mother – nothing except the High Father.

"What has happened here?"

In answer, there was a crack of thunder and a bolt of lightning raced down to shatter the ground before them. Lightning had arrived. Her red cloak was torn in many places, and the gleaming crystal of her armour shone like a ruby from all the blood upon it. The Sword of Gathering Storms had been drawn, and the crackle of its edge was a howl torn from Fang's nightmares.

"The High Mother attacked the High Father." Lightning strode forward. "And half of Cocoon lies in ashes because of her. Regardless of her station, she will be brought to justice."

Fang looked from the High Mother to Lightning. There was more to this, there had to be. But now was not the time for talk. Words would not stay Lightning's hand, not when her rage had stained the clouds black and streaked them with lightning. Worse, Fang could sense more of the gods loyal to the High Father arriving. They would be outnumbered soon, and Lightning was trouble enough alone.

"Go, Caius," Fang said. "Take the High Mother. Hide yourselves, and seek me out later."

Caius went, and the High Mother vanished with him.

Rain had begun to fall, and Fang was reminded of another time Lightning had raised her sword against her. But there was no grief upon her friend's face, only anger and hurt. One step became two became three, and they stood so close they could almost touch.

"That was unwise. She almost killed the High Father, Fang."

"Then she must have had good reason. Cruel she may, at times, but never senseless. Never without reason."

"What reason could she have?" Lightning drove her sword into the ground point first, and the stone beneath them glowed white-hot then melted into glass. "There can be no excusing this treachery. For the love I once bore you, and the love I still bear, I ask you to stand aside."

"I will not." Fang shook her head. "Were you there when she struck? And I can see in your eyes, you do not think of justice. You think of death. At least speak to her."

"The evidence was clear. I saw the wounds myself." Lightning tore her sword from the ground. "I will ask once more: stand aside."

Fang lifted her spear. "I do not know what lies the High Father has told you, but there is more to this than what you have seen."

"And why should I trust her over him? What has she done to earn my trust? I served her so well and was rewarded so poorly. Look around you, Fang. How many mortals are dead because of her? She gave no thought to them when she tried to strike the High Father down. My duty is clear. The High Mother has become an enemy of Cocoon."

"I will not stand aside."

"Then you leave me no choice."

There was silence then, and stillness, broken only by the rustle of the rain. They looked into each other's eyes, and Fang wondered how it had ever come to this. Where had the good days gone? Those distant days when she and Lightning had been close, and Serah and Aerith had wrought mischief upon their fellow gods. Fang would have given anything to have them back, but they were gone.

Lightning surged forward, and her sword fell with all the weight of a mountain. Fang caught the blow upon her spear, and the divine metal of the weapon shuddered beneath the force of the blow. At the last moment, she twisted, and Lightning's sword slid off her spear to carve a gash into the earth. In the same motion, Fang drove her spear up toward Lightning's side. The strike could have pierced the greatest of walls upon Gran Pulse, but Lightning caught it with one hand.

Fang's eyes widened. She'd forgotten how long it had been since they'd fought without reservation. Lightning had grown stronger, and she possessed Serah's powers as well. The pink haired goddess yanked Fang forward then hurled her up into the sky. Lightning followed a heartbeat later, and they clashed again and again, spinning end over end through the air as their weapons met in a thunderous staccato. Fang flicked her wrist, and her spear became a vast whip. She wrapped the weapon around Lightning and threw her back at Cocoon. The other goddess crashed through one temple after another, righted herself, and then sent a bolt of sizzling electricity up into the sky at Fang. Fang darted around the blast and replied with a wind sharp enough to cut through rock.

Lightning stood firm even as Fang's wind sliced through the stone around her and ripped a gash a mile long upon the surface of Cocoon. Thunder boomed and Lightning shot upward with a speed no other god could hope to match. Fang was caught in the middle of a divine storm, forced back as Lightning fought with greater and greater ferocity and power. One blow slipped through and then another, and Fang fled higher into the sky. She needed time to think, to gather her thoughts. More importantly, she needed to ensure that Caius and the High Mother had escaped. Fast as they were, Lightning might still catch them if she left now.

That left her with but two choices – and she was not yet ready to kill the dearest friend she had.

She dismissed her spear and called for another. It was not the God-Slaying Spear, but it was close. It was Gungnir, the All Piercing Spear that no shield or armour could withstand. The weapon fit perfectly in her hands, and Lightning stopped in the sky below.

"Do not make me throw this," Fang said.

Lightning did not give her a choice. She raised her sword and called to the storm around them. Fang threw her weapon. Gungnir flew faster than a thought, and the clouds around them parted, pierced even from afar. But Lightning was faster still. The unbreakable edge of the Sword of Gathering Storms caught the point of the All Piercing Spear, and the sky cracked. The shockwave tossed Fang back, and the storm died, blown apart by the force of the collision.

Yet when she looked down, Lightning still stood. The other goddess had done the impossible: she had deflected a spear as fast as thought itself. And in her sword's unbreakable edge, Lightning had found the one thing she possessed that could withstand the point of Gungnir.

"You still have one weapon stronger than that." Lightning glanced down to watch Gungnir fall to earth. Where it landed, it carved out a lake. "Call upon it now."

Fang shook her head. "No. The weapon you speak of was not meant for you. It was not meant to kill the one I hold dearest in my heart." She had bought enough time now for Caius and the High Mother. "I pray you find reason before I am forced to call upon that weapon." Then she fled, vanishing on the wind.

And Lightning let her go.

Almost a full day had passed before Caius and the High Mother came to Fang's mountain. However, she had not waited alone. Tales of the battle upon Cocoon had come to her from other gods still loyal to the High Mother, and many had sought shelter amongst the towering peaks of her domain.

"What happened up there?" Fang asked. "Did Lightning speak truly? Did you attack the High Father?"

"In that, Lightning spoke truly." The High Mother still looked weary. "I did strike the High Father, but not without reason. I discovered his true purpose, and I could not allow him to succeed."

Fang recalled Aerith's words, and the chill upon her soul grew even colder. "He is looking for a door."

"How did you know that?"

"He sought to win Aerith over, and she told me of her concerns. But she could not tell me exactly what this door was. Only you perhaps, and the High Father, know its true nature. Now is the time to share that knowledge."

"It is no mere door that he seeks." The High Mother's voice grew soft, and the sorrow in it was of an ancient kind, long buried but now unearthed. "It is the Door. It exists in a place beyond the mortal world, beyond even the reach of the gods and the glittering spires of Cocoon. The Door lies in the Realm of the Dead, a place where all mortal souls must go, but where no gods can walk. It leads to the one who created Pulse, the High Father, and me. It leads to the Creator, and it is the embodiment of his power."

"You never spoke of this before." Fang listened intently and so too did Caius.

"There was no point. Pulse has slumbered for countless ages, and neither the High Father nor I can even remember the Creator. All I have – all he has – is the shadow of a memory, the image of the Door burned into our souls. The Creator sleeps beyond the Door, and his dreams are what shape the world. The only way to reach him is through the Door. It is the lock that keeps apart the Realm of the Living and the Realm of the Dead."

"But every lock has a key," Caius said. "That is what the High Father seeks, is it not?"

"Yes. A key. The ultimate key."

"How could he make it?" The shards of a plan were coming together in Fang's mind, and she prayed her suspicions proved false. What she imagined was a horror beyond description.

"We sit upon an ocean of a chaos, a small, insignificant island of calm. No god can control the chaos, but it has been part of the mortal soul for as long as I can remember. It is why their prayers strengthen us – their devotion gives form to the chaos within their hearts, it gives us a power we can use. Only chaos can open the Door. The High Father means to use mortal souls to forge the key. But the ones he has in his possession – those loyal to him and kept upon Cocoon – are not enough. He must seek out the Lifestream, the river of souls that serves as the lifeblood of Pulse. It is there that the souls of the dead return to the Realm of the Living to be reborn."

"That is why he sought out Aerith," Fang said. "That is why you had me watch over her for so many years. You knew what she was, and you knew what she might one day be capable of."

"Yes, and we are fortunate that she has refused him. But I misjudged him. He does not need her anymore. He has found another way to make the key. Once he has enough souls, he will open the Door."

"And then?"

"He could awaken the Creator if he wished. But he will not. He will let the Creator slumber and seize hold of his powers. Then the High Father will finally be strong enough to throw back the tide of fate and conquer the endless cycle of death and rebirth. Nothing will be beyond his reach."

"And the cost?" Caius murmured. "What happens to the souls used to create the key?"

"They are lost forever."

"How many?"

"A number beyond counting."

Fang growled. "Then we must tell Lightning. She will see reason –"

"She shall not believe us," the High Mother said. Her words were a bitter thing, made bitterer by their truth. "The High Father had turned her heart against us, and he has hidden all sign of what he plans. Even if we confronted him, he would conceal his designs. But we are not without hope. There is still Cocoon."

"He needs Cocoon?"

"The Creator dreamed Cocoon into being, and the High Father and I shaped. Some fragment of his power still remains, trapped within its gleaming crystal. The High Father will use that shard of power to make the key, to give it a physical form. But first, he must bring Cocoon to the Lifestream so that it may absorb the souls he needs. Cocoon must be destroyed."

"Destroy Cocoon?" Caius shook his head. "This is madness far beyond anything I imagined. Yet what choice do we have? If you speak the truth, then it must be done."

Fang wished she could dispute the High Mother's words, but she could not. The words fit too well with what Aerith had told her. But worst of all, she knew the High Mother had spoken truly about Lightning. The other goddess had turned her heart from them. She would tolerate no insult to the High Father.

"I shall go and gather what forces I can." Fang took to the air. "If Cocoon is to fall, we shall need all the strength we can muster."

"Go then." The High Mother rose, and her weariness faded. In its place was iron resolve. "War has come, a war between gods."

X X X

In the days that followed, Fang gathered the gods still loyal to the High Mother. They held council atop her mountain, for the peaks were bound to her and would not betray their secrets to unfriendly eyes. Along with Caius, Fang was the most powerful of the gods that still remained to the High Mother.

It was a dragon that brought the news they feared, for Fang had set her dragons the task of watching Cocoon.

"The High Father is moving Cocoon." No longer did the High Mother go about in finery. Instead, she had donned the raiment of battle: crystal armour that blazed like the sun and shimmered like the moon. But even that was only for appearances. Like the High Father, she was not bound to one shape, and she would reveal her true form only when battle demanded it. "I was right about his plans."

"Then he shall know that we are coming. He shall be prepared."

"And he is growing stronger. He has brought many more mortals to Cocoon and of the prisoners he has taken only a few remain."

Fang's jaw tightened. She knew well that many of the gods friendly to the High Mother had been imprisoned, but she had not worried too much over their fate. Lightning's adherence to duty was still firm, which meant she would not slay them unless she had to. The law, as it had been, was clear: mere association with an enemy was not grounds enough for execution. Imprisonment alone would suffice. "What has he done now?"

"The High Father and I created all of you save for only a few like Aerith. We know your souls, and they were crafted in our image. What we gave, we can take away. That is, we could consume you as a mortal consumes food for sustenance. But the stronger the god, the more difficult this would be. It is no coincidence that the gods I can no longer feel are amongst the lesser of our kind."

"If he is fuelling his strength in such a manner, then our time grows shorter still. We must launch our attack while there is still hope of victory. He brings Cocoon north. Why?"

"The Lifestream flows through all of Gran Pulse. But as with the blood of a mortal, there are places where it is closer to the surface. In the north, hidden far from mortal eyes and the gaze of the gods, lies a place where the Lifestream flows strongly but close to the surface. There, he can forge the key."

"Then we must go there to meet him with all the forces we have gathered."

"Gods alone can fight this battle and your dragons too, perhaps. But it is no place for mortals. Their presence would only aid the High father's cause. Send word to all those still loyal. The day of our attack draws near."

Time was growing short. A great power was building in the north, a power greater than Fang had ever felt. All over the world, the skies darkened, and a dread silence fell upon the land. The home of the gods could not be taken by surprise, so their plan of attack was simple: assail Cocoon with all their might.

But the High Father had not left his plans to chance. He had called to him an army of gods and an army of mortals as well, which he arrayed upon the ground around Cocoon. They would serve as both defence and sacrifice. The spirits and gods on the High Mother's side did not fight alone either. Aerith had marched north with all her Cetra, and with her she had brought all the beasts of the wild and lonely woods. Then there were the dragons, which had given Fang their allegiance.

"Your orders are simple," the High Mother said. Her power carried her words clearly to all those who served her. "We must bring down Cocoon. Fight hard and fight well. Failure shall mean the end of us all and all the mortals we have watched over for so many years."

A great cheer went up, for the High Mother was dazzling in her strength and glory. Then she went in secret amongst the greater gods. Each of them was told to seek out one of the greater gods who served the High Father. Their task was to face them on the field of battle and slay them if required. To Fang was given the hardest task of all: to stop Lightning, the mightiest of the High Father champions.

"I would not give you this duty if there was another who could perform it," the High Mother said. "But Caius has a task of his own that only he can carry out."

"I understand." And Fang did, though she wished she did not. No one knew Lightning as well as she, and none had faced Lightning's sword so often. Fang's love had given her wisdom when it came to Lightning's powers, and now she would use that wisdom to lay her low. Besides, there were precious few amongst the High Mother's followers who could compare to Lightning in strength.

Yet Fang had doubts that would not leave her. Even if she possessed the power to kill Lightning – and that was no certain thing – she did not know if she could bring herself to do it. At the very least, however, she should be able to keep Lightning from aiding the High Father when the High Mother went against him.

With their course decided, the forces of the High Mother set out. They soared through the sky, the gods aglitter in their divine armour. Around them flew Bahamut and his kin, the dragons of the mountains. Of all creatures, dragons were the closest to the gods in power. And there were so many of them that day that their shadows cast the land beneath them into early twilight, and the gleam of their scales in the sun made it seem as though a bank of stars was sweeping through the sky.

But even so, Fang could not be certain of their victory. And she was right to worry.

No sooner had they laid eyes upon Cocoon, the home of the gods adrift above the frozen wastes of the north, than she saw a battle unfold on the ground ahead. The army of mortals that the High Father had gathered was locked in dire struggle with the Cetra and their beastly allies.

It was grim fighting. The Cetra were stronger and faster than any mortal, blessed by Aerith herself. They fought with the sword, the spear, and the bow, and the least of their number was worth ten mortals. As the front ranks held firm against the tide, those behind let loose a cloud of arrows. Yet the mortals did not break beneath the withering rain of steel, nor did they falter in the face of the Cetra's skill at arms. The High Father had promised them great things, and they fought now with the strength that could only come from unwavering devotion to a cause.

But over that battle was another far worse. Aerith stood alone in the sky, her pink robes aflutter in the breeze, the green of her eyes so bright that it was almost blinding. Against her stood Jenova, the Mother of Corruption. The mad goddess had sworn fealty of a sort to the High Father, and the air was thick with the stench of her power.

Fang had faced Jenova before, and she was no easy foe. Her power was corruption, the ability to taint and ruin all that she touched. With rotting wings and eyes like freshly spilt blood, Jenova was a nightmare come to life, a curse upon gods and mortals alike.

"Leave her to Aerith," the High Mother ordered. "Our own battle lies ahead."

And from Cocoon came hundreds of lesser gods and spirits, the vassals of the High Father and his followers. Behind them, remaining in firm position around Cocoon, were the greater gods, those that Fang and her kin would have to face.

"Fight!" the High Mother roared. "Give no quarter!"

The two sides met in the skies over the north, and it was a fell meeting indeed. Divine steel cleaved through godly flesh, and the cries and yells of the wounded and the dying filled the air. Gods tumbled from the clouds and broke upon the icy ground below. Elsewhere, the dragons of the mountains gave voice to their own rage, and the flare of divine power was joined by the searing heat of dragon fire.

In the midst of the carnage, Fang saw Bahamut rip a lesser god in two before swallowing another. A blast of his flame sent a host of spirits reeling to break upon a distant mountainside. Those in his path fled, fear overcoming their pride, for only a greater god could stand against Bahamut and win. He was the oldest of dragons and the mightiest by far.

For her part, Fang fought to clear a path to Cocoon. She took no pleasure in killing those she had once called friends, and she took care to strike swiftly and accurately. If she could not spare them death, she could at least spare them undue suffering. But her eyes were on the skies above, waiting for Lightning to show herself.

Yet she could not stop herself from turning to watch as Aerith fell, hurled down into the ice by a wave of dark, fetid shadow. The younger goddess screamed as Jenova's power sought to rot the flesh from her bones. Around her, the ground withered and blackened, and nothing would ever grow there again. But Aerith was no helpless lamb being led to the slaughter. At her cry, the earth tore and a forest rose to strike down her enemy. A titan of roots, wood, and leaves took shape, and it seized hold of Jenova in one colossal fist.

Down the titan drove the mad goddess, down into the dirt and the ice with such force that the glacier they fought upon cracked in two. Jenova's corrupting touch ate away at the wood, but Aerith's power matched it, restoring life to the tainted areas. Again and again, the titan hammered Jenova into the ice until at last a burst of Jenova's power ripped it apart. Aerith howled, a wordless cry of defiance on her lips, and the ground gave way again. Vines raced toward Jenova, each as sharp and hard as a blade wrought of divine steel.

But Jenova had not survived the High Mother displeasure for so long only to fall to Aerith. She rose up into the sky, the sun's light shying away from her as she reached toward the vault of the heavens. A vast shadow fell over the land. Fang looked up. This was the pinnacle of Jenova's might – a calamity from the skies called down to smash her enemies. It was a great stone the size of a city wreathed in black fire and spewing poison.

The High Mother moved to intercept Jenova's attack, but there was a sound like a million waves crashing into the shore. The High Father had joined the battle. The pair met in a storm of light and heat unlike anything Fang had ever known. Then they vanished, a massive pillar of raw force rising up into the sky behind them as their battle took them ever higher above Cocoon.

"Die!" Jenova snarled. "You and all your children!"

And so the calamity from the skies fell, a shadow so vast the whole battlefield was left in darkness. The Cetra below cried out in horror, for there was no time for them to run or flee. Instead, they could only stand and await their death. Even Fang, with all her strength, was not sure if she could stop it. But Aerith did not waver. Instead, she reached out for the doom headed toward her.

Fang had always wondered at Aerith's strength, but now, at last, she took its true measure. The shattered titan rose again, and around its bulk Aerith wove armour wrought of the land itself. Earth and ice fused to wood and vine, and the giant stretched out its hands to catch the calamity.

It did.

And for a second, the calamity stopped, held aloft by a giant as vast a mountain. Then it moved again, driven by a surge of Jenova's power. The titan's arms cracked, and the calamity drove down to strike the earth where it exploded like a star wrought of shadows. When the light faded, Fang sought desperately for some sign Aerith.

The other goddess still lived, for her giant had taken the worst of the blast. Even so, a vast crater had been torn in the earth, and all those within it were dead. But those further away had been spared, though they too had been tainted by the power of Jenova. Aerith howled in grief, and tears of rage and fury slipped down her cheeks. Blood stained her robes, but she rose into the sky once more, and the look upon her face was terrible to behold. There would be no quarter given now, no thought of mercy. Aerith threw herself at Jenova, and the pair hurtled west, their powers warring endless against one another.

Fang turned once more to Cocoon, and the High Mother and High Father appeared before her.

"By all the gods…" She had glimpsed their true forms before, but she had never seen them worn so openly.

The High Father was a monster, a thousand faces swirling in the sky, all sleek metal and gleaming death. From a thousand tortured throats poured an endless litany of praise and glory. He seemed to span the whole horizon, to cover the world itself in his shadow. Then reality cracked as his power sheared creation apart in a bid to wipe out his enemy.

But the High Mother met his attack head on, and she looked barely more human than he did. She was a giant of light and thunder, the words of her gospel carved into the eyes and hearts of all who looked upon her. Divine fire seared the air, and the winds sang of her greatness. This was less a battle, and more a contest of wills, the two greatest of the gods reshaping reality with every blow they struck.

And then, at last, Fang spied Lightning. A dozen lesser gods rushed toward her only to fall as she cut them down with all the ease of a lion amongst lambs. Fang caught Lightning's gaze and held it, and she knew then there was no turning back from this. Lightning stood before Cocoon, the High Father's last line of defence. Divine blood stained her armour and dripped from her sword. With a flick of her wrist, she tore off her cloak and let the wind carry it away. Wordlessly, the other gods nearby fled. This battle was between the two of them.

The time for words had long passed, but Fang could not keep from trying. And so she spoke of all the High Mother and Aerith had told her. How she wished her words could reach Lightning.

"You speak of dark things," Lightning said. "Yet the only power I have felt upon Cocoon belongs to the High Father. Perhaps what you say is true. Perhaps a door must be opened, and a key must be forged. But his plans are not as you think. He has confided his purpose in me. He means to study the Lifestream, to learn the ebb and flows of its souls. That is all."

"Then he has lied to you, or else you see and hear only what you wish to."

"The High Mother was no better."

"What would Serah think if she saw you now? Do you think she would welcome the sacrifice of so many for her sake?"

"Speak not of Serah," Lightning. "And worry not for her. Instead, worry more for yourself."

And Fang's heart broke, for she knew then that no words would ever be enough. The battle would be joined. "Then that is your choice."

"It is the only choice that I can make."

"So you say." Fang lifted one hand and called for the God-Slaying Spear, the one weapon she possessed that had never failed to kill its enemy. Out of all the weapons forged in the heavens and the earth, her spear alone had been crafted for the sole purpose of killing gods. It appeared in her hands, a shaft of blood and shadow. "I beg you, Lightning, do not do this. Please."

"Had you begged for Serah's life as you now beg, perhaps we would not be here." The bitterness in Lightning's tone was beyond measure, and she lifted her sword. "You have spoken, and now I shall give my reply with this." Then her sword shattered, and in its place was a blade of purest lightning. It was the force of every storm that had even been and every storm that would ever be gathered into a single weapon, her full power unleashed at last.

A single tear trickled down Fang's cheek. "Then our choices have been made. Or perhaps they were made long ago."

And then they fought.

It was like no battle Fang had ever known. Lightning was a storm come alive. Already fast, she seemed now to vanish from Fang's sight, and her blows came from all directions and with a force that seemed impossible to hold back. Fang weathered the assault as best she could, looking always for the one moment she needed to strike with the spear that had never known defeat.

But Lightning was wise to the nature of Fang's weapon, and the moment Fang desired would not come. Several times, Fang thrust. But Lightning would not be hit, and her sword left many a gash upon the goddess of the wind. Higher they went, spiralling up beyond Cocoon and into the clouds. A storm grew around them, whipped into frenzy by the lightning and the wind. This was a battle long in the making, but Fang had never thought it would be like this.

Lightning snarled, and her next blows sent Fang reeling through the sky. A jagged fork of electricity tore the clouds, and Fang dove low to avoid it. Then she rose, and the winds she threw in reply were enough to tear down cities and strip a mountainside. But Lightning cleaved apart those winds and streak forward to engage Fang again.

Fang drifted back and swept her spear out. The weapon lengthened to a thousand times its usual measure, and she bound it around Lightning and tossed the other goddess into a mountain. The top of the mountain broke, a pillar of dust and smoke rising from the ruin of its peak, and Fang returned her spear to its normal length and made to throw it. But the dust parted, and Lightning let loose a bolt of electricity so great the shadow of it melted the remains of the mountaintop around her.

Once again, Fang dodged death by a hair's breadth. Lightning wielded not only her own power, but Serah's also, and Serah had been strong. Fang tumbled back, singed, and swept her spear out again. But this time, Lightning caught it, and though its edge shredded and cut her hands, she held firm and yanked Fang out of the sky. Fang jerked to the side and Lightning's killing thrust went wide, but then Lightning grabbed her by the throat and threw her down the mountain. The goddess of the wind left a trail of ruin in her wake until she struck the base of the mountain and carved out a valley.

"Stop this madness!" Fang cried, as she stumbled to her feet and sought to fend off Lightning. "It is not too late. See reason!"

"I have." Lightning shoved Fang back and then scowled as a thrust of the God-Slaying Spear shattered the armour upon her shoulder and nicked the flesh beneath. She drove the flat of her sword into Fang's side and knocked her back into the sky with a crunching blow of her fist. Fang raced upward, and Lightning followed, striking again and again. But somehow, Fang forced distance between them, and they stood far apart in the stormy skies.

Fang had not wished to do this, but now she had no choice. Lightning was too strong to restrain. She lifted the spear and holding it aloft, she poured her power into it. A nest of crimson shadows sprang to life about the tip, and all along its length, in every language there would ever be, the word for death was written in blood and fire. Strength enough to shatter a world filled the weapon, and roaring, she threw it. Lightning did not bother to move – the God-Slaying Spear was beyond dodging. Instead, she met it head on as she had met Gungnir.

There was a sound like the ending of the world, for not even the peerless edge of the Sword of Gathering Storms could not turn aside the God-Slaying Spear, not completely. The deadly thorn caught Lightning in the left shoulder and shattered the armour there. Then it pierced right through her flesh and struck Cocoon, which lay behind her. The impact ripped open the crystal star that served as the home of the gods and laid bare its heart. There, exposed at last, was a pulsing, seething ocean of power. And within it, Fang could sense the pain of countless mortal souls caught in the High Father's power. No wonder Lightning had never felt darkness upon Cocoon. For who would have questioned the presence of the High Father's power so deep within the home of the gods?

"Do you see now?" Fang asked as she called her spear back to her. "He has lied to you! He has hidden his treachery in the one place you would never think to look. He has used you!"

Horror filled Lightning, and Fang was sick to her soul at having put it there. Before their eyes, the sea of power inside Cocoon shuddered and reached down to devour the souls of the mortals upon the battlefield below them. Lightning shook her head in denial, and a ragged cry burst from her lips. Then there was a crack that split the sky as the High Mother and High Father appeared once more.

"You lied to me!" Lightning roared as the High Father settled into place beside her.

"Perhaps," he said. "But know this: only through the sacrifice of the many can you save the few. What are the souls of mere mortals worth beside the soul of your sister? That much I did not lie about – you can have her again." He laughed. "Behold. It begins."

He gestured, and the power within Cocoon thundered down into the crater Jenova had made. It ripped open the earth and there, in plain view, was the Lifestream, a glowing river of souls more beautiful yet terrible than anything Fang had ever seen. The High Father gestured again, and the Lifestream rose upward and poured into Cocoon. The home of the gods quivered. Deep within the storm of souls gathering at its heart, a key the size of a sword began to form.

"Do you see?" The High Father wrapped his power around Lightning. "This is the freedom I spoke of. With that key, I can open the Door. I shall find the Creator and seize his power for my own. And with that power, I shall rewrite the laws of fate and destiny. Why should the world be nothing more than the dreams of a slumbering god? I shall bring a new order, a better order. And you shall have your sister, Lightning, and you shall never lose her again."

Fang saw Lightning waver. The horror of the High Father's deeds was balanced now against the offer of Serah's safety.

"Think!" Fang cried. "Is this what Serah would want?"

And then many things happened at once. The High Mother lashed out with a river of power so great it split the land beneath them and fractured the heavens. But almost at the same time, the High Father struck out as well. Their powers met, and time and space were torn asunder. Fang went flying, tossed aside like a leaf before a hurricane. She steadied herself, and seeing the High Father locked in mortal struggle against the High Mother, she lifted her spear again and filled it with her power. Could it kill him? There was no way of knowing, but it might still turn the tide in the High Mother's favour.

She threw the spear.

But it was not the High Father it struck.

For at the last moment, he realised the danger. There was no time for him to dodge or even properly defend. So instead, he shoved Lightning into the path of the weapon. Fang let loose a scream of anguish and horror as the spear caught Lighting full in the chest. This was no glancing blow like before. This was the spear striking with all its strength. It knocked Lightning back, and the explosion that followed was like a star of blood and shadows being born.

Then Lightning was falling, falling, falling down into the Lifestream.

And Fang could only watch, her soul broken by what she had done. She had thought herself ready to kill Lightning, but she was not. By all the gods, she was not.

"I wonder if she would have stopped me," the High Father said. "But now we shall never know." He forced the High Mother back. "I can feel your power dwindling, Fang of the Heavens. You cannot throw your spear again with that same force. But I have bound myself to Cocoon – my power grows with each moment, and soon the key will be complete. I have won, and you have lost."

X X X

"Shall you stay here?" Aerith asked. She too had felt the flash of the High Father's power from the west, and in its wake Fang had vanished from her senses. "I cannot leave so easily as you."

Lightning said not a word. Instead, her eyes went to the bedroom she shared with Serah. An age ago, she had made a choice. Now another choice loomed before her. Should she stay or should she go?

"Look after Serah."

Lightning lifted one hand and let the lightning carry her westward. Fang had almost killed her once, but her brush with death had also saved her. Now, she would return the favour. But it was strange. She could no longer sense Caius or the High Father.

She arrived upon the ruins of Oerba's eastern wall in a blaze of divine glory. Nearby, a priest cried out in awe, but she paid him no mind. Instead, she turned her gaze upon the soldiers of Cocoon, and they fled before the sight of her. To be sure of their retreat, she carved a great trench in the earth with her lightning.

The priest threw himself to the ground at her feet.

"Honoured goddess! You have come to us in the hour of our need."

"The gods once ordained that these walls would never fail. A god broke that promise, now it falls to another to uphold it." She watched the soldiers of Cocoon flee. "No more will come this night but that is all the aid I shall offer. Your battle on the morrow is your concern. I have learned at great cost that good seldom comes from the gods meddling in the affairs of mortals. My concern now is with the goddess that lies wounded in your temple."

The priest moved to speak, but she swept past him.

An age ago, she had walked through Oerba, so she knew where the temple was. All those she passed fell to their knees, but she did not pause or even look their way. Instead, she went straight to the temple. It stood tall above her, the stones ancient beyond reckoning, the statues of a hundred gods staring down at her, judging her, hating her.

There, in a place of prominence undeserved, was a statue of her as she had been in the Old Days. The guards at the door parted as she advanced, and she made her way to the inner sanctum where the priests had brought Fang. Even there, no one thought to bar her way. How could they? She was a goddess.

The doors burst open at her approach, and the stones beneath her feet shook with the full weight of her grief as, for the first time in an age, she laid eyes upon Fang. The goddess's wounds were still plain to see, and her furrowed brow gave some idea of what memories haunted her as she slumbered.

Without a word, Lightning knelt beside the altar where Fang slept. Her heart felt hollow. She reached out to wipe some of the blood from the other goddess's forehead only to stop halfway. After everything she had done, she had no right to touch her, not with hands that had drawn Fang's blood so many times.

So Lightning pulled away and rose to her feet. She would stand watch. Yet it was not long before the memories came to her, memories of the time she too had felt the High Father's wrath.

X X X

Lightning fell.

For the longest time, she fell.

And she burned.

The spear driven into her chest seared every fibre of her being. It torched her veins, burnt out every muscle. She had wondered how it would feel to die, and now she knew. The God-Slaying Spear had been forged for one purpose only, and not even she could stop what was happening now.

She fell.

And then there was nothing. Was this oblivion? She had sent so many here, and yet she had never expected it to be so still and quiet and dark. It was almost peaceful – a calm she had not thought to feel again, not since Serah had died. Then there was light, soft and green like the glitter of sunlight off verdant fields. It filled her vision, brightening, changing, until it was no longer green but white, and then even that gave way. In its wake there was light and sound and colour and –

"I had not thought to meet you like this."

Lightning gasped and yanked the spear out of her chest. It clattered onto the grass beneath her feet. Grass? Her gaze flicked to the world around her. She stood in the middle of an endless field, the sky above her lit by both the sun and the moon together. Glittering lights danced through the air. Fireflies? Whatever they were, a host of them floated in the air in front of her. They had formed, quite roughly, into the shape of someone she knew very well.

Serah.

But it was not merely Serah the goddess. No, the ever-shifting lights made it seem as though she was Serah the goddess, Serah the mortal, and even Averia all at once. The features had the same general look, yet the posture, the way she held herself had differed from life to life. And the voice… Lightning could not understand how those lights could make mimic her voice. But they did, and she could not turn away, especially when the fine, precise pronunciation of her sister took on the rougher accent that Averia had carried until the day she died.

"Serah, I –"

Serah put one finger to Lightning's lips. Lightning nearly wept. She had done the same thing many times during Serah's youth to try and quiet the younger goddess. It had rarely worked. "It is all right."

"Am I dead?" Lightning looked down at her chest. The hole there oozed blood. "I am dead then. I must be."

"Not yet. Not quite." Serah took Lightning's hands in hers. Lightning shivered. Serah felt so real. "You are in the Lifestream. All mortal souls come here after passing through the Realm of the Dead. We sleep, for the most part, but now and then we awaken. And we are awake now. The High Father has already destroyed so many of us. The key is nearly complete. Then he will have power enough to change the cycle of life and death."

"Then he did not lie about that."

"Does that matter?" Serah smiled gently, sadly, and cupped Lightning's cheek. This time, Lightning did weep. "I cannot blame you, for you have missed me dearly, and you always did love so fiercely, if not always wisely. But I can feel the pain of those who have been lost to make the key – and many more must be lost before the key is done. Do you think that is what I would want? That I would so many innocents sacrificed for my sake?

"No. But living without you is so hard. The weight of it… is heavy, so heavy."

"There is nothing so heavy as the weight of destiny." Serah wiped Lightning's tears away. "You know, by now, what I want you to do. But what do you want to do?"

"I do not understand."

"You have always followed your duty. You have always upheld the laws of Cocoon."

"Because they were just."

"I ask you now to set aside your duty and to think beyond the laws written by the gods. What does your heart tell you? Beneath your rage, beneath your grief, is this the path you truly wish to take?"

"I…"

"Here stands the choice before you. You can let the High Father succeed, or you can stop him."

And suddenly, Serah's voice was joined by the voices of countless others. It was the Lifestream, the river of souls. And it was speaking to Lightning. Images filled her mind, snatches of memory and thought. Thousands of lives unfolded before her: the past, present, and future of every mortal soul. The weight of it all pressed down upon her. It was the weight of their grief, their sorrow, and their suffering. But it was also the weight of their love, their joy, and their hope.

She had never felt so humbled.

And now she knew what her decision would be. What was her grief and loss weighed against so many? How could she ever look Serah in the eye again if she turned her back on such suffering? Perhaps it was heavy, but she was the goddess Lightning. She would do as she had always done – she would do what had to be done.

Serah appeared to her again. A gentle smile graced her lips. "Allow me to give you a parting gift." She placed her hands against Lightning's wound, and the goddess shivered as the power of the Lifestream flowed through her. Every wound was healed, and her dwindling powers were restored. "It would be cruel to send you back without some hope of victory, and we – all of us here – have a vested interest in your success." She chuckled softly. "Take care, sister."

"Shall I ever see you again?"

Serah threw her arms about Lightning. "The sister I knew did not give way to tears so easily. But do not fear. Even if we part now, it is not forever. I shall find you again."

And then Serah was gone.

Lightning's eyes opened. She was on the shores of the Lifestream at the bottom of the crater. Her sword lay cold and dull in the dust, and Fang's spear lay nearby as well. Her gaze went to the sky. The High Mother and High Father were locked in desperate combat, yet it was clear that he was winning. Fang was nowhere to be seen, but Lightning could still feel her soul. She was only wounded then.

She stumbled to her feet. Serah had not lied. Her powers had been restored in full, and she would need them, at least for a little while. She went to the God-Slaying Spear and picked it up. The weapon hummed in her hands, but it did not reject her as it could have. Perhaps it sensed her purpose, or perhaps its mistress had never revoked Lightning's right to touch it.

Whatever it was, Lightning lifted the spear and filled it with her power. Once more the point grew sharp, and the shaft of the weapon proclaimed death in every language there would ever be. Her lips curled. She had never had much love for spears, but Fang had made certain she knew how to wield one. She was glad for those lessons now – and gladder for the friendship that had come with them.

With a growl, Lightning threw the spear, and it was a thorn of red and black streaking with impossible swiftness toward its target. But the High Father was no mere god. He caught the weapon, but in that instant his attention turned from the High Mother. She took full advantage and threw the full weight of her power into a blow that tore him down to the very fabric of his being.

Lightning saw at once that the High Mother would not be able to strike such a blow again – too much of her power was spent. But the High Father had power still, and now he rounded on the High Mother with murder in his heart. But he had not counted on Lightning. Gathering all her powers, she raced upward and drove her sword into the very centre of his being. All of her power was thrown into the strike, every ounce of will and every iota of strength. The High Father roared long and loud, for the High Mother's blow had weakened him enough to make this wound a deadly one.

"You fool!" he bellowed. His power had gone rampant, tearing the flesh from her bones and ripping the sky. Above them, Cocoon began to quiver. It had answered to the High Father alone, and now that he was mortally wounded, it was beyond anyone's control. "You have killed us all."

"Perhaps," Lightning replied. "But this is my choice."

"You shall not enjoy this victory." The High Father gestured one last time at Cocoon. "You shall all die with me."

And then Cocoon exploded. The home of the gods came apart in a blast so bright that the whole sky was lit as though filled by a hundred suns. The force of its destruction swept past the High Father and Lightning, the two who were closest to it. The last thing she felt was the High Mother's own power sweeping out, trying hopeless to contain the blast – a blast fuelled not only by the High Father's power, but by the power of the Lifestream as well.

And then there was nothing.

Nothing until Serah called out to her from the shrine.

X X X

Lightning looked at Fang. There was so much she did not know. She had no idea of what had happened after the High Father fell. The High Mother was gone – perhaps she had used too much of her power to restrain the blast. But what had happened to Caius and Fang in the years after? Nor did she know how the High Father had survived, or what he had promised Caius to win him over.

She wished for nothing more than the chance to live a life by Serah's side, to treasure her sister for however long the fates had given them. But if the High Father wished to try again, then she would stop him. Yet there was no High Mother this time to aid their cause, and she had so many regrets.

Tomorrow, a battle would be fought. She would let the mortals fight it. The Fall of Cocoon had taught her too well what happened when the gods meddled in mortal affairs. There was only one mortal that interested her, and even she had not been able to spare her from the vagaries of destiny.

Regret was a hideous thing, and it clawed at Lightning now. But she could wait. Serah was with Aerith, safe in her forest. Fang would awaken soon, and they would talk. She needed to know what had happened in the years of her slumber. She needed to know what Caius and the High Father planned.

If it came to it, neither she nor Fang were strong enough to face the High Father – never mind face him when he had Caius's aid – but so few of them remained. And there were words they had to speak, words that had waited far too long.

X X X

**Author's Notes**

As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.

There is a phrase about getting a monkey off one's back. This chapter was my monkey, only instead of a monkey it was more of a five hundred pound, fire-breathing gorilla with an adamantium pickaxe. Yeah… that's a scary thought. In any case, this chapter should be reassuring to anyone who thought I had abandoned this story (I have not, nor do I intend to).

Rather than going into the reasons for the delay, let me instead move straight into a discussion of what actually happened in the chapter.

I had originally intended to include the battle scene that was hinted at in the previous chapter. However, I wasn't satisfied with the way it fit. In particular, I felt the story needed to provide more background with regards to the past otherwise too much of what Caius and the High Father were doing would appear to make no sense.

Setting the majority of this chapter in the past also allowed me to provide important details – details that have thus far not been provided. We are reaching the point in the story where Lightning is going to have some very important decisions to make (as are the other characters). Without knowledge of the past, their decisions would lack context. And context is important, for how else are readers to evaluate/empathise with a character's decisions.

And empathy is particularly important when it comes to Caius. He is not insane. He is not inflicting suffering simply for the sake of it. Instead, he has made a very deliberate choice to support the High Father, knowing full well what that support entails. There are things he wants, which only the High Father can give him, and Caius has judged the cost worth the reward. However, he isn't stupid – he has made plans of his own to ensure the High Father doesn't have things all his own way. Opening the chapter from Caius's view was a deliberate decision to try and provide the reader with a glimpse into his head.

The Fall of Cocoon is the shadow that has hung over this story since the early chapters, and finally I got around to telling all of you how it happened. Despite his considerable military might – might that is only matched by the High Mother – the High Father's true strength was his ability to understand others. The High Mother mocked all of the time he spent amongst mortals, but he learned firsthand from mortals how powerful manipulation can be.

The High Father's ability to manipulate others is showcased in his treatment of Lightning. He understands her almost perfectly. Apart from her love for Serah, she is driven by the need to see justice and fairness prevail – the High Mother made her that way. By appealing to all of those things, the High Father was able to turn Lightning's resentment toward the High Mother into outright rebellion.

Consider the High Father's speech. He speaks of high-minded things, such as justice, fairness, and honour, to try and appeal to the gods' sense of decency and nobility. He understands that emotion can be stronger than intellect. In contrast, the High Mother adopts a much more straightforward approach, one that casts her views in a far less sympathetic light.

It isn't a case of the High Mother being stupid. Rather it is a case of her thinking in a very different way. For countless ages she has ruled over the gods. Her word was law. Her gospel was the truth. The very thought of being overthrown or outmanoeuvred was as foreign an idea to her as the sun rising in the west. She can't imagine things changing because they never have before. Nor does she see the point in appealing to emotion. The laws of Cocoon clearly favour her position with regards to mortals – she is in the right. The High Father chose to fight their battle in an area where she had little experience and even less understanding. As she said, he has spent far more time amongst mortals than her. The gods, being immortal, do not change nearly as quickly as mortals who live considerably shorter lives.

The High Father's plan incorporates ideas from Final Fantasies VII, X, and XIII. In particular, the Door, the Realm of the Living, and the Realm of the Dead are all ideas adapted from the Final Fantasy XIII mythology. The idea of slumbering Creator, or Maker, is also adapted from Final Fantasy XIII. The Lifestream and Lightning's meeting with Serah are based on a combination of ideas modelled on elements of Final Fantasy VII and Final Fantasy X. More astute readers will also notice the Kingdom Hearts reference present in the High Father's plan.

Now that we've gotten all of that out of the way, there's probably something else you're wondering: is the next chapter going to take this long to come out? I sincerely hope not. The delay in getting this chapter up has been one of the most galling and somewhat horrible experiences I've ever had as a writer. Not only have I disappointed all of you (the readers) but I have also disappointed myself. It is not a pleasant feeling, nor is it one I wish to subject myself to again. In any case, I'll simply have to do better in the future.

I've also received a number of questions as to what, if any, music I listen to while writing this story. I don't actually listen to music while writing. If I do listen to music, it is before I start writing. Likewise, if I want to read something to get into the mood, I'll read it before I start. My choices in reading/listening can be quiet odd. For example, when I was working on this chapter I read Tolkien's  _Children of Hurin_  and listened to Mumford and Son's  _I Will Wait_ , Avicii's  _Wake Me Up_ , and the Pacific Rim theme. Quite an odd mix, I'm sure.

As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


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